Chapter 85: COMRADES IN ARMS

Kai was still sitting on that sofa—with an empty can on the table and a paper containing a list of names still folded beside him—when he opened the desk drawer. Inside that drawer, beneath a pile of papers and some used batteries, was a revolver. Not the revolver he usually carried to school. Not the pistol he kept in his bag. This was a different revolver—a revolver he had kept for a long time, that he had placed in that drawer years ago and had never touched again. A revolver he had once used to play the death game with God.

He picked it up. The metal was cold in his hand—cold like iron that had long been untouched by light. He stared at it for a long time. His fingers touched the spinning cylinder—the one that used to always be empty, the one that used to always click instead of bang. He stared at it like he was staring at someone he hadn’t seen in a long time—someone who had once been part of his life, who had once been his only friend on lonely nights, who had once been the only thing that made him feel alive because he was almost dead.

He placed it back in the drawer. Slowly. And he closed the drawer.

But his mind had already gone—to somewhere far away, to a time long past. He remembered it clearly. Too clearly. Like it had happened yesterday. He and his comrade—Bella Donna, a woman with blonde hair always tied back and a smile that was always there even in the worst situations—were cornered inside an enemy base. The building’s walls were full of holes, its windows shattered, and outside, dozens of armed men were waiting. They had run out of bullets. They had run out of options.

Kai turned to Bella. "Do you still have ammo?"

Bella turned toward him. Her smile was still there—even though there was dried blood at the corner of her lips. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a revolver—her favorite revolver, the one she carried everywhere, the one she cleaned every night. She opened the cylinder and counted. "Three," she said. "Maybe. To shoot a few times."

Kai looked at her. "That’s enough."

Bella smiled—a smile wider than it should have been. She handed the revolver to Kai. Kai took it, checked the cylinder, and tucked it behind his body—hidden behind his jacket.

They walked out of that building with their hands raised. Kai stepped first—with calm steps, unhurried, like someone walking in a park. Bella followed—with her hands raised, but with a soft whistle escaping her lips. A whistle that didn’t suit the situation. A whistle that made several men outside stare at them with raised eyebrows.

An old man stepped down from a car—a long black car, with dark windows and a license plate that couldn’t be read. He walked toward them with slow steps, with a cane in his hand that he didn’t need to walk. He stopped in front of Kai and looked at him from top to bottom—like he was appraising an animal he had just caught.

"Grim Reaper," he said. His voice was heavy, with a tone full of satisfaction. "I never expected to capture you. You—" he laughed softly, "—you’re like a ghost. No one has ever been able to catch you. But look at you now. Standing in front of me with your hands raised, like a little child caught stealing."

Kai didn’t say anything. He just stood there, with his hands raised, and eyes that stared at the old man with a flat gaze—the gaze he usually gave to people he considered unworthy of being answered with words.

The old man rambled on—about his organization, about how his name would rise because he had managed to capture one of the deadliest mercenaries, about how he would get recognition, about how the Grim Reaper—the executor of the Grim Reaper—would finally submit. He enjoyed every word that came out of his mouth. He enjoyed his own voice.

Then he glanced toward Bella. His eyes stopped there—at the woman still standing with her hands raised, with the soft whistle that hadn’t stopped. "You," he said, "the Grim Reaper needs help from a weak woman like this? I thought you were better than that."

Bella stopped her whistling. She looked at the old man with narrowed eyes—and for a moment, her hand lowered slightly, like she wanted to hit him. But Kai held her arm—without turning, without changing his expression—and Bella abandoned the thought. She raised her hands again, and continued her whistling.

The old man turned away—satisfied with himself, satisfied with his rambling, satisfied with the way he had humiliated the person he had captured. He stepped back toward his convoy of cars. But before he could reach his car, Kai called out to him.

"In ten seconds," Kai said. His voice was calm. Not loud. But enough to make the old man stop and turn.

The old man looked at him. "What?"

"In ten seconds," Kai repeated, "all of you will explode."

The old man laughed—a laugh louder than it should have been, a laugh that showed he didn’t believe it at all. "You’re really foolish," he said. "You think—in a position like this—you can do something? Your hands are up, you have no weapon, you’re surrounded by my men. What can you do?"

Kai started counting down. "Ten."

The old man shook his head. "Your effort is useless. You’re only embarrassing yourself."

"Nine."

"My men are already aiming at you. They’ll shoot before you reach one."

"Eight."

The old man started to panic—a little. He stepped back, and for the first time, he turned to his men. "Aim at him. Now."

"Seven."

"Aim, you fools! I said aim!"

"Six."

The weapons raised. Dozens of muzzles pointed at Kai. Bella beside him didn’t move—her whistle was still there, but her eyes followed Kai’s movements.

"Five."

The old man backed away. "Shoot! SHOOT!"

"Four."

Fingers started feeling for triggers.

"Three."

The old man opened his mouth to shout again.

"Two."

His men started pulling the triggers.

"One."

Kai moved. He pulled the revolver from behind his body—with a quick movement, like a cowboy drawing his gun from its holster—and he fired. Once. Not at the men. Not at the old man. He fired at the fuel tank of the car in the middle of the convoy.

The bullet flew, pierced the metal, and hit the fuel inside.

The explosion wasn’t immediate. For a fraction of a second, there was nothing. Then the car exploded—with a deafening sound, with fire bursting in every direction. The car beside it exploded too, because the distance was too close. Then the next car. Then the next. In less than three seconds, the entire convoy became a sea of fire—with the men who had been aiming at Kai thrown in every direction, with metal fragments flying like rain.

The old man stood there, with his mouth open, with the cane fallen from his hand, with eyes staring at the fire in front of him. He didn’t move. He couldn’t move.

Kai stepped toward him—slowly, unhurried—and he stopped beside him. He leaned his body slightly, until his mouth was near the old man’s ear.

"I wasn’t serious yet," he said. Softly. Only for that man.

Then he struck the back of the old man’s head. Once. The old man fell—not moving.

Kai stood. He turned to Bella—who had already lowered her hands, who had stopped whistling, who looked at him with a smile wider than before.

"We’re bringing him back," Kai said.

Bella nodded. "I’ll take his legs."

They carried the old man—one holding the arms, one holding the legs—and they walked away from the fire.

Kai snapped out of his reverie. He looked around—his apartment, his old sofa, the empty can on the table, the paper containing the list of names. He looked at the clock on the wall. The hands showed nine at night. He had been sitting there for more than two hours—trapped in memories he hadn’t asked for, in a past that had never truly left.

He stood. He walked to the bathroom, washed his face, and stared at the mirror—the same face, with the same wounds, with the same eyes. He walked to the wardrobe, took the clothes he would wear—black clothes, clothes that would make him look like part of the darkness. He put them on quickly. He made sure nothing was forgotten—wallet, keys, phone, and the paper containing the address Jona had given. He looked at that paper once more. Bar Hot Viper. With the full address below it—on the outskirts of the city, in an area he didn’t know, in a place he wouldn’t find if he didn’t follow the instructions.

He folded the paper and put it in his pocket. He closed his apartment door, locked it, and walked down the stairs. Outside, the night air was cold—whoosh—and the sky was dark without a moon. He walked to the parking area, started his car, and drove toward the direction the address indicated.

Tonight, he started working.