---2 days earlier...
---April 19, 2016
---At Shibuya Tokyo, Japan
Ryujin had just used up his rounds, and the café descended into chaos around him. People screamed and cried as they tried to get out of the place. With a satisfied smile, Ryujin turned to leave, merging into the panicked crowd. But just as he reached the door, he could hear sirens getting louder and louder. Cars screeched to a halt outside the café, and policemen poured out, guns drawn.
"He's inside! Move, move, move!" one of the policemen yelled to the others, his voice urgent.
Ryujin ducked low, trying to be as small as possible as he dashed for the back exit. He could hear policemen closing in, their feet stomping against the pavement. His heart was beating fast, but he remained composed and determined to slip away from them.
As he ran out the back door into an alleyway, a shot fired. Searing pain burst out in his shoulder, and he stumbled, nearly falling to the ground. He looked down to see blood soaking through his shirt, the wound burning with every movement. Grinding his teeth, Ryujin forced himself back up and sprinted down the alley.
"Stop! Police!" an officer shouted, his voice strong and desperate. More gunshots followed, but they missed their mark, bullets ricocheting off the brick walls around him.
Ryujin ran even harder, the pain in his shoulder fueling his adrenaline. He turned around the corner, his mind racing for ways to get out. He knew Shibuya's labyrinthine backstreets well; they had been his playground for years.
As the policemen rounded the corner, the alleyway was empty, with only echoes of their footsteps and shouts resounding off the walls. One officer, panting heavily, peered around with his flashlight, his face twisted in frustration.
"Dammit, he's gone," he muttered, lowering his weapon. He keyed his radio, his voice filled with a mix of sadness and fear.
"Dispatch, this is Unit 5. Suspect Ryujin has escaped. I repeat, Ryujin has escaped. Send additional units to canvas the area. We need all available officers."
The officer turned to his comrades, their faces mirroring his despair.
"He can't have gone far. Spread out and search every alley, every building. We can't let him get away again."
Back at the café, the aftermath of the shooting was grim. The police and medical teams worked frantically to tend to the wounded and secure the scene. The café, once filled with the joyous sounds of Takashi's piano, was now a scene of tragedy and chaos.
---Some time later...
Ryujin stumbled into a dimly lit, abandoned building, clutching his bleeding shoulder. He quickly found a spot to sit, yanking off his shirt to examine the wound. The bullet had gone clean through, but the pain was intense. He pulled out a small first-aid kit from his bag, clenching his teeth as he strapped duct tape and gauze over the wound to stop the bleeding.
"Damn it..."
he muttered to himself, wincing. He pulled out his phone with his good hand and scrolled through his contacts, finding a familiar name. With a deep breath, he hit the call button.
The phone rang a few times before a gruff voice answered.
"Ryujin? Is that you...Where the hell have you been?"
Ryujin's thoughts swirled.
(I ditched the gang without a word. Now I'm crawling back, needing help. What am I thinking?)
"Boss, it's me," Ryujin said, his voice strained.
"I need your help. I'm in Shibuya, and I need an escort out. It's urgent."
There was a pause on the other end.
"You disappeared on us, Ryujin. Now you suddenly call out of nowhere, asking for favors?"
Ryujin swallowed hard, knowing he had no choice.
"I know, Boss. I messed up. But I'm in deep sh*t right now. The cops are after me. I need to get out of here, fast."
The boss sighed heavily. "You're lucky I still have a soft spot for you. Fine. I'll send a couple of guys. Where exactly are you?"
Ryujin gave his location, relief washing over him despite the pain. "Thanks, Boss. I owe you."
"Damn right, you do. And this time, don't think about ditching us again. We'll find you. Stay put and try not to bleed out before they get there."
The call ended, and Ryujin slumped against the cold wall, his breathing shallow gasps. He could hear the sirens of the police cars in the distance as they scoured the area for him. He had to trust that his old gang would come through—that they hadn't written him off totally.
(I have to get out of this mess...) he thought as his mind wandered with plans and contingencies.
(Once I'm safe, I'll figure out my next move.)
Minutes felt like hours as he waited, his body growing weaker by the minute from the blood loss. But then, he heard the familiar rumble of the car engine and the low voices of the old gang members. They approached cautiously, weapons drawn as they scanned the area.
"Ryujin?" one of them called.
"Over here," he returned weakly.
They rushed over, eyes widening as they caught sight of the soaked blood on his shoulder.
"Sh*t, you really got yourself in it this time..."
"Let's get him out of here," another one said as he helped Ryujin to his feet.
Guided to the car, Ryujin kept his eyes closed as they drove out of the premises. He was free from immediate danger, but uncertainty still lingered ahead.
---Some time later when the car started driving...
Ryujin stared out the window, his thoughts and plans in knots inside his head. The car sped through the dimly lit streets, the cityscape of Shibuya a blur. He was trying to figure out his next move when he realized that the car took an unexpected turn.
"Hey, where the hell are we going?" Ryujin snapped, his voice sharp with suspicion.
The driver glanced at Ryujin through the rearview mirror, eyes cold and calculating.
"Do you think we're stupid, Ryujin? You disappeared on us, and now you think you can come back in without us being cautious?"
Ryujin's heart pounded as he noticed one of the gang members in the backseat slowly pulling a pocket knife from his black pants. The glint of the blade in the dim light made Ryujin's pulse quicken. The other gang member locked eyes with him, a silent warning to keep quiet.
For a fleeting moment, Ryujin remained silent, his mind working out options. Then, with a sudden surge of adrenaline, he headbutted the nearest gang member. The man's head snapped back, and he groaned in pain. Without hesitating, Ryujin lunged forward, reaching for the steering wheel.
"Are you crazy?!" the driver yelled as he tried to keep control of the car.
Ryujin gritted his teeth, using all his strength to force the steering wheel to the side. The car swerved wildly; the tires screeched against the pavement. The gang members in the backseat lunged at Ryujin, trying to pull him away, but the sudden chaos was too much.
---Until...
The car hit a bump, and in the blink of an eye, before anyone could do anything, it had flipped. The world became a whirlwind to Ryujin as the vehicle somersaulted off the road, rolling down a grassy field. The sound of crunching metal and shattering glass filled the air. He was thrown inside the car, secured by the seatbelt, his skin being chafed by the seatbelt, almost like a ragdoll.
After what seemed like an eternity, the car came to rest, leaning on its side. The ears were ringing, his vision blurry. Ryujin groaned hard, pain from the ride he had just been on bursting through his body. He could hear the groans and curses of the other gang members, but he knew he had to move fast.
With great effort, he unbuckled his seatbelt and crawled out through a shattered window. Every muscle in his body protested, but he forced himself to keep moving. He looked back at the wreckage of the car, seeing the other gang members slowly trying to get out.
"Not today," he growled, gritting his teeth in pain. He stumbled away from the wreck, heading towards the cover of the nearby trees.
The darkness of the night swallowed him whole, the air cool against his skin, his mind racing to come up with a new plan. He was alone, injured, and on the run. But he was still alive, and as long as he was alive, he had a chance.
(I need to find a place to hide, regroup, and figure out my next move...)
Determination fueled every step.
The sound of sirens in the distance spurred him on. He knew the police would be searching for him, and he had to stay ahead of them. With one last glance at the wreckage, Ryujin disappeared into the night, ready to face whatever came next.
Turning sharply onto the nearest sidewalk, Ryujin let his ragged breathing be the first thing to slow down his body, aching from the crash. He tried to steady his mind, focusing on the immediate task of getting as far away as possible.
---But...
Then the explosion happened behind him—suddenly; the sound lit up the night sky. The force of it made him flinch and stumble.
He stopped and turned around slowly. Now the car they had wrecked was a blazing inferno, with flames licking the night air. The heat was intense, even from where he stood. Ryujin watched the fire for a moment, feeling a mix of relief and guilt. His former comrades, the gang members, were surely dead now. He knew he should feel something more, but all he could muster was cold detachment.
"Better them, than me..." he muttered under his breath.
After a moment, he pulled his gaze away from the burning wreckage and forced himself to move. He knew the explosion would draw attention—fire trucks, police, maybe even curious bystanders. He needed to disappear before anyone arrived.
His shoulder throbbed where he'd been shot, but he ignored the pain. He kept walking, forcing himself to stay alert. The city was quieter now, the chaos of the explosion feeling distant already. Ryujin knew he had to find a place to lay low and tend to his wound.
(Think, Ryujin. Where can you go?)
he thought, his mind racing.
(An abandoned building? A back alley? Somewhere no one would think to look.)
He turned down another street, his eyes scanning for anything that might offer shelter. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, wincing as the movement aggravated his shoulder. It was a text from an unknown number.
">You messed up, Ryujin. We're coming for you."
He cursed under his breath, shoving the phone back into his pocket. The gang wouldn't let this go easily. He needed a plan, and fast.
Ahead, he spotted an old, boarded-up storefront. It looked like it had been abandoned for years. Perfect. He hurried over, checked around, then pried open a loose board and slipped inside.
The interior was dark and musty, the air thick with dust. He found a corner and sat down, leaning back against the wall with a groan. He needed to deal with his injury before he could think about what to do next.
He pulled off his shirt, grimacing at the blood-soaked bandage. He had some basic supplies in his bag—he always did, just in case. He cleaned the wound as well as he could, biting down on a piece of cloth to muffle his groans. Once he had it wrapped up again, he sat back, trying to catch his breath.
"Okay, Ryujin, think..."
he told himself.
(You're hurt, but you're alive. You need a plan to get out of the city, and you need it fast.)
His mind strayed back to the explosion again. The intensity of it, the finality. He felt a stab of guilt for the gang members who had died, but he thrust it away. Survival was all that mattered now.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. He needed to contact someone who could help him, someone outside the gang. But who? He ran through the list of people he knew, trying to think of anyone who owed him a favor or had a grudge against the gang.
(Maybe there's someone...)
he thought, a name coming to mind. It was a long shot, but he had nothing to lose. He pulled out his phone and typed out a message; his fingers quivered with his heart's rhythms.
">This is Ryujin, i Need help. Urgent. Where can we meet?"
He hit send and leaned back, hoping for a quick reply. The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. Finally, his phone buzzed with a response.
">Warehouse on 3rd and Pine. Be careful."
Ryujin let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. It was a start. He just needed to get there without being seen.
He forced himself to stand, ignoring the wave of dizziness washing over him. He had a destination now, a glimmer of hope. With one last glance around the dark, empty room, he slipped back out into the night, determined to survive.