I brought an Orochi kunai to his eye before he could make a pip.
The Russian had about $1000, a big knife, and a brand new Baretta with the serial number filed off.
"Scream, and you die before you even blink," I said. "Resist me, and you die. Remember, you're not irreplaceable. There's an entire bar of Russians down below us. And I don't mind cutting through all of them to get the answers I want." I said, inching my blade closer to the white of his eye.
He tried his best not to blink. Despite the cold, he was sweating.
"Where's your armory?"
There was a stretch of silence as the man contemplated his options. I saw his muscles tense before he even moved. My hand lashed out, slashing the Russian man's forearm before the haymaker came remotely close.
He bit down a startled yelp of pain and tried to swat me back with the other hand, but I casually caught it and twisted his forearm, forcing him to his knees. My dagger lashed out twice more, scoring hollow cuts on his forearm and shoulder.
"Aaaa—"
I dismissed the Orochi kunai and clamped down on his mouth before he alerted the entire street. The Russian looked up at me with newfound fear. Slowly, the hopelessness of the situation was starting to sink in.
That was the beauty of the Orochi Kunais. They were designed to torture, not kill.
"Does your insides feel like they're on fire?" I hissed. "This is only the beginning. Every cut will bring you close to death's door. How many more do you think your mind and body can take? Five more, Six? Who is supplying you with the guns?" I asked again.
The Russian tried to scream the second I let go of his mouth, but I jabbed his throat, leaving him a gasping, crumpling mess.
The ease at which I dismantled him was a bit eerie.
An insane reaction time was another benefit of moving four times faster than a peak athlete. He was gasping before a single sound came out. Three more cuts tore up his chest, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he tried and failed to yell for help through his bruised windpipe.
"Last chance."
"W–arehouse 13. Th–e. Docks," he spoke in desperate gasps. "Y–ou're. Making. Huge. Mistake."
Sure I was.
I patted him on the back. "Congratulations, you don't die today, but you're not walking away either."
I knocked him out with a swift punch to the back of the head and used some of the rope that Jean had bought me to tie his hands and legs into an impossible knot. I would've killed him if he'd seen my face. Lucky for both of us, I wore a ski mask.
Another piece of rope also went around his mouth to ensure he didn't call any unwanted attention.
I dropped down to the street level and swaggered into the bar. My mask was still on, and all eyes swiveled in my direction.
Good.
I hoped they wouldn't make this too easy for me.
But before I could say something clever and probably culturally offensive.
A man sitting at the back of the room yelled something in Russian, and everybody got to their feet in alarm, pulling AKS, pistols, and knives.
My eyes went a bit wide.
That was a lot of firepower, but I had Angel Dash, Demon Burst, Evade, Focused shot and was nearly a master in a dozen martial arts.
I wasn't that worried.
Still, the casualness with which they pulled their weapons alarmed me a bit.
When the first man dashed toward me, I tensed up, a bit confused. He had his gun in his hand but closed the distance between us.
Either he was an absolute fool or…I was not his target in the first place.
"Move!" he commanded, and I stepped to the side, allowing him and 20 other Russians to take to the streets and hop into their cars.
The boss was the last to leave. He was an older, gentle man with a lean build and a walking stick with a Silver handle. He had two men in clean-cut suits standing beside him. He stopped just as he passed me and spoke in a thick Russian accent.
"You're lucky. You would've left here eating out of a straw any other night. This is your only warning."
He made to leave, but I stopped him.
"Wait! What's going on?"
His two guards looked like they were about to throttle me, but I just raised a brow.
"You have balls," he laughed. "Are you sure you're not Russian under that mask? Leave Hell's Kitchen tonight if you want to live."
"I don't make a habit of running from fights. I run towards them."
The boss laughed. "Is that why you came here? To fight my men?"
"To offer my services," I responded enigmatically. "They call me Arsenal. I'm a mercenary by trade."
The older man measured me as his bodyguards' arms inched toward the pistols in their jacket pockets.
"Come to fatten yourself on our misfortune," he laughed. "I would've done the same when I was your age. Very well, follow. Prove yourself in the fight to come, and you'll be handsomely rewarded. Cross us, and Peter here will feed you your guts."
"Fair enough," I nodded, passing a look at the mountain of the man called Peter. He stood to the right of the Russian boss and was the larger of the pair. His face was covered in scars marks, and I was tempted to use the Devil's eye on him, but I didn't want them to suspect me until it was too late.
I joined the old man in his car.
It turned out his name was Henri, and the Russians were finally taking the fight with the Albanian because some no-name goon decided to help themselves to the daughter of the Albanian gang head.
He was put down immediately, but the damage had already been done. The girl's father was livid, and he demanded blood.
"That'll do it," I said.
Henri shook his head. "In my day, we knew better than to leave witnesses alive."
I thought he felt for the girl for a moment, but he was the head of a criminal organization; I didn't know what I was expecting.
"Don't stop until you run out of blood relatives, I always say," I chuckled, and Henri gave an approving look.
"It's rare to find somebody so young who is not completely clueless about how the world works."
"I was forced to learn fairly early on," I said.
"Then you understand the need for this pre-emptive attack," Henri said. "It will put this matter to bed once and for all. Her father, Gregory, will be the first to go, then the rest of the family."
After my experience this afternoon, I couldn't say I wasn't a fan of a good old-fashioned pre-emptive strike, but wiping out an entire bloodline seemed…excessive.
It would be the equivalent of killing Xavier's mutants because I didn't want them returning for revenge.
With Xavier's hold on his school so potent, I couldn't say for sure that I would not be forced into that position. I could think of a few hot-headed students who'd readily come after me for revenge if they were not chasing me down already.
Peter did not take his eyes off me the entire time we spoke.
Eventually, I heard the sound of gunfire. The fight had started ahead of us, and we were one of the last cars to arrive.
Trevor–the second bodyguard, pulled up a few blocks from the fight, and we climbed down from the vehicle. The tailgate popped open to reveal a veritable arsenal. It contained a sniper rifle, a shotgun, pistols, and a submachine gun.
I whistled.
Henri smirked. "The fight is so fierce that Gregory will never see us coming. I've been waiting for this for a long time."
"I bet you have," I said casually, summoning the fingers of Orochi.
Peter reacted, covering his boss before the daggers fanned out. Huh. Impressive. Considering how fast I was now, it was quite a feat.
Trevor went down immediately, writhing, and Peter dropped to his knee, shaking and growling as two daggers stuck out of his back.
He looked back at me with a ferocious glare before he started frothing from the mouth and promptly passed out.
I summoned Ebony and fired at Henri's hand, removing the handgun he'd been trying to sneak when his bodyguard was incapacitated.
"You cannot unring this bell, Boy!" Henri threatened as I swaggered close.
"Are you going to comply, or am I going to have to be an asshole?" I asked in a bored voice.
Henri set his jaw, glaring up at me, but did not put up a fight. I pulled out my rope and got to work, hog-tying the man. Before I gagged him, I asked.
"Where's the Albanian gang leader holed up."
Henri laughed. "Whoever hired you cannot protect you. Stop this at once, and I'll consider it a misstep. You don't want to make enemies of two of the biggest East European gangs in the world."
I summoned another finger of Orochi and stabbed it into his knee. Henri bit back a surprised scream.
"I have bigger fish to worry about than some street-level thugs. Tell me what I need to know, or I start peeling."
And I was only half joking.
(Suport your boy and read ahead on Patreon.com/ArtandCreativeWriting)