Chapter 59: Unnecessary Conflict

Chapter 59: Chapter 59: Unnecessary Conflict

Mataguchi’s monologue, POV

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?The heavy brick walls of the alley closed in, narrowing the escape vectors to a single, dead-end corridor. I came to an abrupt halt, my boots scraping against the damp asphalt.

?I turned slowly, facing the open mouth of the alley.

?One by one, figures stepped out from the shadows and cut off the retreat. Not three. Seven. Their broad frames and heavy, conditioned builds filled the width of the passage. They moved with a low, weighted center of gravity, shoulders relaxed but primed, eyes locked onto my posture with clinical precision. Professional operators. Mercenaries or corporate enforcers wearing civilian thrift to mask their alignment.

?For a fraction of a second, I shifted my weight, executing a deliberate micro-adjustment in posture—a simulation of panic, a twitch designed to signal vulnerability and induce an immediate charge.

?The lead enforcer grunted a sharp command, and all seven surged forward in a synchronized rush, their boots hammering against the pavement in a sudden, violent roar.

?I stood completely unfazed. My half-lidded, lifeless eyes tracked their vectors with unblinking clarity.

?They closed the distance in under two seconds. The front two split low, sweeping outward to block any lateral evasion, while the center trio drove straight ahead with explosive force. The first attacker launched a blistering front snap kick aimed at my solar plexus, backed by the crisp, rigid hip rotation of traditional Kyokushin karate.

?I didn’t step back. A millimeter tilt of my torso let the kinetic force of the kick graze the fabric of my shirt without displacing a single ounce of air into my lungs.

?Before the kick could retract, a second assailant swept in from the left flank, executing a tight, vicious elbow strike targeting my jawline, utilizing Wing Chun close-quarters trapping principles.

?My head slipped to the side with precision, the elbow whistling past my cheek by less than a hair’s breadth. Simultaneously, a third operative threw a heavy, looping overhand right, leveraging street-fighting brutality to shatter my guard.

?I ducked beneath the arc, pivoting smoothly on my heel as the remaining four closed the net, weaving a complex, overlapping web of coordinated strikes—joint locks, low kicks, and palm heels designed to trap and crush.

?They attacked with varied disciplines, shifting forms fluidly, yet every motion registered in my visual field like a slow-motion playback. Not a single hit touched me. I slipped through the gaps in their formation like water through a sieve, my posture straight, arms hanging with deceptive ease, conserving every erg of energy.

?I leaped backward, breaking from them.

?Probability calculation of prolonged victory margin: declining.

?A mental note flickered in the back of my mind. Despite my evasion, their spatial control was tightening. I wasn’t entirely certain I could win a protracted, unyielding war of attrition if reinforcements failed to arrive on schedule.

?The attackers broke off for a fraction of a second, shifting backward into a semicircle to reset their breathing. They attempted to probe my mental state, deploying psychological pressure.

?"End of the line, AI," the lead enforcer snarled, his voice low and gravelly, laced with synthetic menace.

?"Your little corporate friends can’t bail you out down here. One wrong twitch and we carve you up into pieces they won’t even recognize."

?AI... huh.

?I remained completely silent, my expression entirely flat. Zero behavioral feedback and panic.

?The silence unnerved them more than screaming would have. With sharp, synchronized snaps, three of the men drew tactical combat knives from their waistbands, the dull steel catching the pale twilight filtering down from the street above.

?They rushed again, steel flashing in tight, lethal arcs.

?Some moved their knives around with specialized precision, trying feints.

?A blade slashed horizontally toward my throat. I raised my forearm, parrying the wrist outward with pinpoint torque, redirecting the momentum. As the second operative lunged with a reverse-grip stab, I stepped inside his guard, caught his wrist, and wrenched it downward with leverage, forcing him to drop his weapon.

?I snatched the falling combat knife out of the air by the hilt, spinning it smoothly in my palm to counter a downward thrust from the side. I met their flashing steel with defensive parries, deflecting blow after blow until the lead enforcer lunged with a heavy, one-handed vertical slash.

?I ducked inside the arc and drove a sharp, open-palm strike straight into his forearm.

?The impact cracked against his bone. The knife jarred loose from his grip, flying violently through the air, spinning end-over-end before plunging deep into the brick mortar of the alley wall, vibrating furiously with half its blade buried in the masonry.

?The diversion bought me the opening I needed. I immediately executed a series of attacks with my hands to several weak points.

?He fell to his knees immediately, gasping for air while blood poured from his mouth and nostrils. I instantly ended him with a punch to the face which sent him unconscious.

?I dropped into motion, shifting from passive evasion to offensive execution.

?I stepped into the nearest enforcer, delivering a devastating, lightning-fast side kick straight into his knee joint. A sickening pop echoed through the alley as the joint buckled inward. He collapsed instantly, gasping for air, clutching his shattered leg.

?The second man swung wildly with a roundhouse punch. I ducked underneath, drove my elbow upward into his sternum, and followed up with a vicious knee strike to his midsection. He hit the asphalt hard, doubling over as the wind was violently driven from his lungs, left coughing and struggling to draw a single breath.

?One by one, I dismantled them.

?Swift, calculated strikes to pressure points, joints, and soft tissue. No wasted energy. Every movement optimized for maximum physiological disruption. Within thirty seconds, five of the seven men were sprawled across the damp pavement, groaning in agony, unable to stand, their chests heaving in shallow, wheezing gasps as internal pain paralyzed their coordination.

?I turned smoothly to face the remaining two.

?"Oh shit! This is bad!" one of them said in fear. I didn’t move, but he immediately set his stance on instinct. Blood immediately dripped from his ears.

?He noticed his hand joints completely bent the opposite way.

?Was he only now realizing it?

?Suddenly, a blur of motion erupted from my blind spot. The seventh operative, having circled wide behind a rusted dumpster, lunged forward with a low, vicious downward thrust, aiming the tip of a hidden blade directly between my shoulder blades.

?I caught the glint in the glass reflection a fraction of a second before impact.

?There was time to step clear of the vector. It was as if he wanted me to know.

?Instead of dodging, I pivoted my body deliberately, raising my left hand and placing my palm flat against the incoming blade edge.

?Sshhhk.

?The steel pierced straight through the center of my palm, tearing through flesh and muscle with a sharp, searing surge of localized pain. Blood welled instantly around the cold metal, dripping onto the concrete.

?My expression did not flicker by a single micro-expression.

?Before the man could register the grotesque efficiency of my counter, I tightened my arm grip on his hand, pulling him past me. Then I landed a straight kick to his back knee, causing him to kneel on the ground before landing a clean kick to his face.

?He dropped limp to the ground, unconscious before he even hit the pavement.

?The ones still conscious backed away slowly, trembling violently, their weapons clattering uselessly against the asphalt. They stared at me—at the blade protruding straight through my bloody palm—with eyes wide in absolute, unadulterated terror. They looked less like hardened mercenaries and more like cornered animals facing an insurmountable force of nature.

?I pulled my hand off the blade with a sharp motion, letting the crimson-stained steel drop to the ground and onto the man’s hands and clothing.

?I stepped closer, towering over the other, my half-lidded eyes resting flatly on his pale, sweating face. My voice was entirely even, devoid of any ragged breathing or strain.

?"The structural probability of your survival depends on a binary choice," I stated, my monotone cutting cleanly through the damp air of the alley. "How much did the corporate coworker inside the facility pay you to orchestrate this extraction attempt?"

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"I’m not perfect. But I’ll always be real. I don’t believe everything i hear: Real eyes, Realize, Real lies."

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