The abandoned factory is my chosen stage. I've spent days rigging it, guided less by any real technical skill than by pure desperation and a YouTube rabbit hole on 'low-budget special effects'. Cobwebs adorn fake treasure chests, and broken mannequins lurk menacingly behind shredded curtains. It's ludicrous, more haunted house than criminal mastermind lair, but it'll have to do.
The night of the 'summit' is a blur. I sneak in hours beforehand, heart pounding, to make final adjustments. Then it's waiting, hiding in a cramped storage room that smells of rust and old paint. Every creak of the ancient building sets my nerves on edge.
They arrive separately, of course. Tanaka first, his earlier bravado replaced by a gnawing suspicion that I can practically smell on him. His goons fan out, trying and failing to make their searches look nonchalant.
Kenji and his Saito crew arrive later with a burst of noise and posturing. My pulse quickens. This is it. The moment when my meticulously laid plan either makes me a legend or gets me a shallow grave out back.
Through a carefully created peephole, I witness the two leaders meet in the center of the main factory floor. The conversation is tense, the words unimportant. All that matters is the undercurrent of distrust, the way their men square off – just as intended.
Which is why the scream cuts through the air like a knife, shocking everyone into silence.
"What the hell?!?" Tanaka yelps, whirling towards the source of the sound.
A 'corpse' dangles from a makeshift gallows I've rigged in the rafters. It's a mannequin, draped in a sheet, splattered with the ketchup I sacrificed from weeks of lunches. My timing is impeccable, if I do say so myself.
"A traitor among us!" I bellow from a speaker hidden above, my voice distorted for added spooky effect. Tanaka and Kenji's men start, weapons half-drawn.
This is where things were supposed to reach a fever pitch. Accusations, maybe a fight breaks out between the two gangs, leaving them weakened and ripe for me to swoop in as the true mastermind...
Instead, Kenji bursts into laughter. It's loud, grating, and utterly devoid of amusement. "You think this crap will scare me, Tanaka?"
His men relax, mirroring his disdain. Tanaka, however, looks less certain. He eyes the swaying 'corpse' with a flicker of genuine unease. Good. Fear is exploitable.
"Your men have been whispering, Tanaka," I continue, switching to a stage whisper, "Saying their boss is weak, a relic, that it's time for new leadership..."
Tanaka visibly bristles. This is exactly the kind of doubt I was hoping to plant. But Kenji, the bold idiot, barrels onwards.
"What kind of kiddie game is this?" he sneers, waving dismissively at my pathetically decorated factory, "You think I fall for this obvious setup?"
Suddenly, he points towards a far corner. "There! That's where your little friend is hiding, isn't he?"
My stomach drops. It's a bluff – no way he could see me in the gloom. But he doesn't need to. Kenji is the sort who acts first, thinks later. Two of his goons charge towards the spot he indicated, weapons surprisingly real and dangerous.
Without thinking, I do the only thing I can – escalate. A flash of light – a strategically placed firecracker – and another horrific scream rips through the air. One of Kenji's men collapses in a heap, clutching at his leg.
"Booby trap!" someone shouts. Panic ignites on both sides now.
I grab my pre-packed bag and take advantage of the chaos, making a dash for a back exit I'd scouted earlier. It's no grand escape, more of a terrified scramble punctuated by yelps as I trip over junk.