The night was heavy with a stillness that only a storm could bring, though Dio had no intention of letting it catch him off guard. His shadow flickered in the dim light of his hidden lair, its movements almost anxious as if it too sensed something was amiss. Dio paced, every step measured and deliberate. His mind was a sharp instrument, and tonight, it was honed to a razor's edge.
The world around him had grown more dangerous by the day, but that was nothing new. He had always expected trouble—it was the nature of his life. What had caught him off guard, however, was the discovery of the Busters. No one had told him about them—not his informants, not his subordinates.
It had come in the conversation between two of the men who worked for the masterminds. Dio had overheard them in a market, his shadow listening in while his body moved unseen among the crowds. They spoke of a group of men who could crush buildings with their bare hands, who could walk through gunfire without flinching.
The Busters.
A weapon so terrifying that even Dio's usual confidence faltered at the thought. There was no winning against something like that—not head-on, not even with his shadow's manipulation of the battlefield. He would have to think smarter than that.
...
Dio's mind raced, calculating, predicting, analyzing. He couldn't afford to wait until the Busters arrived at his doorstep—he needed to be ready. Immediately, he began preparations. First, he turned to his network of subordinates. They were loyal, but not blind to the danger. He fed them false orders, telling them to prepare for a "final push" against the city's forces—making it seem as though he was still in control, still intending to fight.
But Dio's true plan was hidden, even from them.
He moved to a secluded room in the depths of his lair, away from prying eyes. On the walls, a detailed map of the city was spread, marking every possible escape route, every underground passage, and every possible hidden exit from the slum. Beneath it, a second map—one that didn't look like it belonged to him—was pinned to the corkboard. This map was older, covered in faded markings. It was his backup plan, one that few knew existed.
He had already anticipated an enemy that wouldn't play by the rules. A confrontation with the Busters would be catastrophic. No matter how strong his shadow made him, even he couldn't stand against men who could tear through concrete with nothing but their fists.
So, he planned his exit with surgical precision.
He reached into a drawer, pulling out an old but well-maintained suitcase. Inside was a set of documents—blank passports, fake IDs, and several accounts in foreign banks that could secure his freedom anywhere on the globe. He wasn't running away, no. But when faced with something he couldn't defeat, he always had a backup. A chance to disappear if the need arose.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. Time was short. They were coming for him.
...
As night fell, Dio's subordinates gathered in the main hall of the lair, ready for his command. They were eager, filled with the usual bloodlust of the streets. Dio stood before them, a figure of quiet authority. His demeanor was unchanged, as if the news of the Busters, the constant threats, and the plans to trap him had no effect on him.
"Tonight, we end this," Dio said, his voice smooth, yet laced with an edge of finality.
His subordinates cheered, but Dio's mind was elsewhere. Beneath his calm exterior, he was already slipping out through a hidden door at the back of the hall. His shadow, ever watchful, moved with him, guiding him silently through the winding corridors of the lair. His subordinates would believe he was heading to the battlefield. They would believe he was taking the fight to the masterminds' doorstep.
But Dio wasn't headed there. He was preparing to vanish.
Dio entered the room where his escape plan was hidden. A narrow tunnel that led out beneath the city's sewer system. It wasn't glamorous, but it was effective, and it had been used by countless others before him. It was a forgotten route, one known only to a select few—and that was exactly how he wanted it.
He set his suitcase aside and moved to the wall, where a hidden panel slid open with a soft click. Inside was a small control panel, and with a few presses of a button, the tunnel entrance began to shift. Steel doors slid open, revealing the narrow, grimy passage beyond.
His shadow followed, undetected by anyone. Dio stepped inside, a quiet resolve in his movements. The sound of the doors closing behind him seemed distant, as if in a dream. He wasn't running. He was adapting.
As he moved deeper into the tunnels, Dio allowed himself a moment to reflect. The masterminds had made a mistake. They had underestimated his patience. Underestimated his ability to pivot when faced with overwhelming odds. Dio had learned long ago that survival didn't mean charging headfirst into every fight. Sometimes, survival meant knowing when to vanish into the shadows, only to reemerge when the time was right.
His escape was flawless. Even his lieutenants believed he was somewhere within the labyrinth of streets, preparing for a confrontation that would never come.
As Dio emerged from the sewer system into the underground network, his shadow whispered to him, sensing the subtle movements of the city above. The Busters hadn't reached the slum yet. The masterminds had likely sent them into the heart of the area, expecting him to stay and fight. They were wrong. He had already anticipated their move and had prepared a place to lie low.
Dio smiled faintly, his thoughts cold and calculating. The city's pieces had moved. But Dio? He was already two steps ahead.
As the night passed and the storm began to settle, Dio was no longer in the slum. He was watching, waiting from the shadows of a distant building, his plans already in motion. The Busters would come and wreak havoc—but not where they expected.
Not yet.