The fat officer was crying, begging for mercy, kneeling without dignity for a chance at life.
But.
Ichijō Mirai moved the muzzle of his gun, his finger on the trigger, "Let go."
The fat officer's body trembled, "Wh, what?"
He maintained his hunched, half-slumped, half-kneeling position, trembling as if he hadn't reacted as he stared at the gun in Ichijō Mirai's hand, a mishmash of horror and supplication froze on his face like a dried piece of flesh-colored paint on a palette.
"I said," Ichijō Mirai repeated, "unclench your left hand that is touching the police gun and lift it."
While the fat officer's right hand was held down on the wet ground, his left hand was held down on the right side of the young officer's body at the waist, his drooping elbow and sleeve blocking the exact details of the contact between his left hand and the body.
The police sidearm is usually on the side of the police officer's waist.
Ichijō Mirai arrived too late to see the struggle between the two officers go by or to know how much noise they made, except that no shots were heard on the road.
The ground, on the other hand, was clean, with only the rich shadows of night and standing mud and water, and even the marks left on the ground by the bodies in the struggle were only a small patch.
There was no gun.
Judging from the traces, the young officer didn't resist for long before the fat officer took care of him with his bare hands, without even drawing his gun.
Where could the young officer's gun be? In the holster, of course.
Then the question arises: collusion with the Yakuza deal, can be decisive out of the heart to kill their former friends, and afterward can be in the police station as if nothing happened to continue to stay, and even just kill a young police officer, will be in the former friend of the son to find the door, only to kneel and cry for forgiveness?
Not unless he's out of his mind.
Aimed at by the gun, the fat officer didn't move at the first opportunity.
"Are you faster at drawing your gun, or am I faster at shooting?" Ichijō Mirai reminded kindly, "You can't shoot immediately after drawing your gun either."
"I can fire at least three shots before you do," he asked politely, "Are you looking down on my marksmanship?"
"Don't make me repeat myself a third time."
The scene was deadlocked for less than a few seconds before the fat officer made his choice.
He clenched his back teeth and his chubby cheeks trembled a few times before he slowly raised his left hand that was holding down the corpse and smiled sarcastically, "Okay, okay, I'll raise it, don't shoot."
The waist of the young officer's body was no longer covered, revealing an open holster and a half-drawn police gun.
Ichijō Mirai glanced at it and raised an eyebrow, "Anything else to say?"
The case crack hadn't arrived at one hundred percent, and the fat officer hadn't spit out all the information yet.
The fat officer held his hand up stiffly, like a comical crab, and he looked at Ichijō Mirai steadily, trying to analyze something from Ichijō Mirai's calm to somewhat impatient expression.
But couldn't analyze a bit.
He couldn't find any sadness, any anger, only indifference.
This, in turn, left him at a loss for how to respond, and he could only spew out what he knew in a hard-headed manner, "I've been keeping a close eye on the Anamo Group guys, and they've been threatening me, and they've been sticking to me like glue for almost five years now, ever since the incident, but it's only been five years."
"One day, five years ago, I suddenly got a signal from the joint, and instead of being insatiable and demanding that I collect the white powder for them, they demanded my retreat route."
He gave a careful smile, "Due to their blackmail, I have been making preparations and quietly looking for avenues to leave Neon as soon as possible."
This careful smile was accompanied by an unidentified liquid that had not yet solidified on his face, roughly a mixture of tears, sweat, and drool.
Ichijō Mirai stares at this frown-inducing smile and briefly gives the most basic of responses, "Hmm."
Continuing.
"Because they ran into a very mysterious group of guys," the fat officer's spirits lifted when he finally got so much as a clear response, "Those guys were very well armed, not small-time gangsters by any means, and they even dared to arm-wrestle with the Anamo Group for turf in front of the police. "
"Every one of them is quite ruthless, when arm wrestling almost don't want to die like not defending, specializing in staring at the enemy and laying down deadly blows, but also very restrained to the police, as long as once held down by the police they will never resist."
"The police have checked, they all come from clean backgrounds, they are local young men from Tokyo, and their statements at the police station are all consistent, all wanting to fight over territory."
"But."
The fat officer stared intently at Ichijō Mirai and gulped, "The guns they were carrying had American goods."
"The latest version!"
In the lower right corner, an alert flashed, a reminder that the mysterious force's weapon information had been unlocked.
The guns were the latest American goods?
Ichijō Mirai's eyebrows twitched, "You mean..."
"I only found out that it was the then latest version of an American item two or three years after the Anamo Group was all but wiped out," the fat officer said, "It's never a good thing to take it out when dealing with the Anamo Group, it can't just be for turf battles."
Makes sense.
Ichijō Mirai didn't say anything.
The fat officer picked up again, "I surmise that they're trying to get through to Tokyo for a cross-border deal!"
"Just happened to have their eye on Anamo Group's turf, or maybe someone from Anamo Group messed with them not long after they first arrived in Tokyo and learned some secret about them, and that's why they were so targeted to drive them out of business."
Or...
It wasn't a new mysterious group that had been offended, but rather the ones that had already been offended had come back with a vengeance, like Ichijō Mirai.
The fat officer carefully peeked at Ichijō Mirai's expression, trying to spy anything unusual that would validate the guess, but found nothing and could only say, "In just three months, the Anamo Group's people disappeared from Tokyo."
"I was threatened, and had no choice but to use my own channels to send away what was left."
"They streamed overseas, and it was difficult to find them, even that mysterious group of people didn't find them in the first place, it must have taken a lot of effort for you to find them, but!"
"But they went through my channel!" The fat officer held up his hand, glancing even at the police gun in Ichijō Mirai's hand, "I can assist you in finding them!"
"Don't kill me, okay?"
In the lower right corner, another hint surfaces: ['The whereabouts of the survivors of the 'Hostile-Anamo Group' have been unlocked.]
['Old Friend?' All information unlocked, the datasheet is loading]
[Loading Progress: 1%]
All unlocked?
Ichijō Mirai scanned over the rapidly bouncing loading progress and raised an eyebrow, running over what the fat officer had just said.
It made perfect sense.
Just listening to the fat officer, leaving him behind was necessary; he held the whereabouts of the Anamo Group survivors.
But.
The game's mission requirements were simple and straightforward: take care of Fat officer.
The mission reward is even simpler: the save feature.
What does this mean for the player?
One more breath of air from the fat officer is disrespectful to the player's love of the game.
Faced with a guy who seriously disrespects himself, Ichijō Mirai remains polite and asks nicely, "Have you finished your last words?"
Fat Officer: "..."
Ichijō Mirai understood, "Finished."
He moved his hand.
"No!" The fat officer cried out in a rush, nearly standing up in panic, and then quickly reacting, meeting the black muzzle of the gun and falling to his knees, "I've gotten my comeuppance, really, I haven't been able to sleep every night for the past eleven years, and every night I think back to that day."
"My baby was only three months old, only checked out not long ago, and I lost him, and my wife divorced me over it, really!"
"The bureau also noticed something strange, and found a reason to just freeze me out, not to mention promotion, I was demoted instead, I'm this old, still in the career group, and now I'm just a police department inspector."
"I! I've been living in agony for the past eleven years," he cried bitterly, "every moment is like being in prison, I've served a whole eleven years!"
The ghost cried.
[Profile loading progress: 100%]