The life of an undercover hitman had its perks. There was danger, action, and adrenaline involved, which fed into a certain kind of high that kept people like Daiya doing such jobs. Aside from that, he had a large support network, specifically his father. That man held a very influential position in the financial district of Tokyo. Being so well-respected by his peers, he was almost like a godfathered version of the Yakuza.
Today's target was a depressed middle-aged married couple and a younger guy. The husband failed and refused to pay money to a loan shark working under his father. Daiya's father loathed failure, no matter the reason. Whatever the debtor was responsible for, regardless of the situation, his father was always adamant about getting repaid. All the man had to do was pay up and carry on. Simple, right?
Oh, how wrong he was. This family had been down on their luck for some time, and any income they could scrape together wasn't enough to cover their existing balance of what they owed Daiya's father. Gambling was the culprit, he was told. People often fall victim to the thrill of risk-taking, of dropping hard-earned money to try and make more money. If they were lucky, they won big; if they weren't, what was the saying? Oh, yeah. Shit hits the fan.
All three had been tied and gagged, now forced to sit helplessly in the small, shabby apartment they'd been calling home. Daiya walked around, casually appraising his surroundings. In his opinion, the place could've used a lick of paint. It was run-down, and there were cracks in most of the furniture and walls and spiderwebs galore. It was a disgrace. He wrinkled his nose in distaste.
The wife slumped over the couch, her mascara running down her flushed face. She made guttural, despair-filled noises through her cloth gag, but Daiya paid her no mind. After looking around the kitchen and living room, Daiya dragged a scratched-up wooden chair to the middle of the room where the bound family sat waiting for him.
Languidly, he sat down and leaned his elbow against the armrest, his fingers outstretched against the side of his temple. He tapped his other pointer finger against his cheek and cocked his head to one side. "Gambling is a bitch, right? Greed gets you nowhere in life unless you're born a millionaire. Even then, you'd need to pay it forward."
Lifting a hand to sweep his hair back off his forehead, Daiya exhaled heavily and rubbed at the base of his neck as he gazed at the couple's son. He pointed the gun at the boy's chest. The fear in his eyes and the urge to scream and plead meant nothing to Daiya. "You've gotta be about, what, in your thirties now? Did you bother trying to do anything with your life yet?"
The man didn't respond, shaking too violently to do much of anything, really. His mother let out an anguished wail and cried harder, sobs wracking her small frame. Her husband couldn't do much either. A helpless man, a shell of who he once was. Hopeless. A deadbeat. That's the kind of man Daiya expected to encounter. Daiya thought of him as a waste of air.
He set the gun down by his feet, tapping his heels against the floor. "You know, I have a dilemma of my own. It's not as sad or whatever, but it still pisses me off," he muttered, resting his chin on his palm. "See, this girl, she's sweet. Sweet as fucking cotton candy. I mean, fuck."
He was ranting. Letting his feelings out to his victims. It made no sense, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He wasn't sure why Yurina made him think differently and why she intrigued him in ways nobody else could. In any case, it annoyed the hell out of him, and the whole stressing over a girl when he's supposed to be killing people for a living definitely didn't put him in a great mood.
"She's just some freshman, some chick whose major I don't even know, and she fucking walks into my and my friend's lives and—" Daiya grunted in annoyance and shook his head. "Man, she's got me out here asking myself all sorts of questions about myself. I don't like it. But, hey. Now, I get to experience some empathy."
The mother was still screaming, the muffled cries annoyed Daiya further. "Could you shut the fuck up? I'm trying to get my thoughts out," he snapped. Turning his attention back to the son, Daiya's glare softened somewhat. "Anyway, she's got a full-ride scholarship and a good record at that. A model student who's always got her nose in the books. But in bed? Oh, baby."
As soon as the woman started crying and screaming uncontrollably like she was losing her mind, Daiya took it upon himself to end her suffering. Swiftly, he picked up his pistol from the ground, aimed, and fired. It took a few shots, but she ended up succumbing to her wounds and finally falling limply to the carpet beneath. Daiya sat back down, wiping the blood off the barrel of the gun.
"Man, your mom was a whiner." The boy stared at the dead body of his mother, eyes wide and unblinking. He trembled and shook like a leaf, his hands and legs twitching sporadically. The father, who was next to him, looked like he wanted to vomit. It was pathetic. These people were a lost cause, and Daiya was ready to be done with the whole ordeal.
Playing therapist to Daiya seemed pointless now. Had he become one of those psycho hitmen? Those guys were seriously sick, not that Daiya had a healthier mindset. "Well, I planned to let you and your old man here live for a while longer, but I was thinking about it and...I really shouldn't be confiding in strangers I'm about to murder."
He pulled the safety back, smirking a little as he waved the muzzle around haphazardly. That earned him a couple of squeals and whimpers, which amused him greatly. Daiya lifted his foot and kicked the mother's corpse so that she lay flat on her back, face up and staring blankly at the ceiling. "It's a shame. You might have wanted to remember your wife the way she was before this shitshow happened. Ah, well."
One, two, three shots to the head. Three rounds to finish the job. Quick and easy. The entire job itself was cut and dry. The only issue arose when he started ranting. Daiya kicked the front door open, startling a nearby stranger who happened to just walk by. She nearly dropped her groceries but merely yelped. The poor woman had nothing to do with this, but leaving behind any eyewitnesses could cause an issue later, especially considering his cleanup crew hadn't yet arrived to take care of the mess he'd made.
When he raised the gun to fire at the innocent woman, he had second thoughts. He lowered his arm slowly, sighing at the same time. His phone rang suddenly, scaring the piss out of Daiya. He gave the woman a knowing look, signaling for her not to speak of anything she saw, and she nodded, obedient and fearful. "I know where you live. Remember that," he whispered before turning and walking off.
Picking up his phone, he cleared his throat and answered, "The next time you're late, I'm giving you a permanent vacation." Daiya hung up, shoved the device into his pocket, and briskly left the area.