Another meeting at the Kabukicho Grill, this one of a much smaller scale. Iizuka's own personal office stood in for the banquet room, and he held company with just Nakahara now. "Chairman," Nakahara said as he performed the customary greeting, though the chairman remained facing the other way, looking out the window at the city skyline.

The crime lord went straight to business. "Our source tells me that one of the Toshihiro was found dead by the police earlier today. It was obviously a homicide. He was their suspect in the murders of our men. It would appear that somebody in our family did it, despite my orders."

Nakahara obviously knew what was going to come up sooner or later. "Do you think that it was Kazuma's doing?"

"I don't know," Iizuka admitted. He had his suspicions but did not want to wave them around without actual cause. After all, he had given the Toshihiro the benefit of the doubt; his own men deserved just as much. "But he would logically be the most likely guess. If not him, then one of his men." He turned from the window to face Nakahara. "You and Kazuma go back before joining our family. You know him better than anybody else. Do you think it could have been him?"

Nakahara took a long moment to answer. "I can't say. I won't deny that Kazuma is... a bit prone to violence. But I firmly believe that he is truly loyal to you." Nakahara's face betrayed nothing- if lying to avoid giving up a friend he would have never be able to tell. At least one part of the response rang true.

"I've felt the same way about his loyalty. Unfortunately the more pressing question remains unanswered. Our families stand on the brink of war. This could be the ignition."

Nakahara looked at him strangely. "Do you really still believe that all-out war can be avoided at this point?"

"There's a chance, yes. If the deaths are all as we fear, we may be able to agree to put them behind us. As I said before, we must avoid going to war any way we can. It would jeopardize the entire family, whether we win or lose."

His subordinate nodded. "I understand. Have you spoken with the Toshihiro yet?"

"Not yet. Hopefully they're still willing to listen."


On the other side of Little Tokyo, the Toshihiro hive buzzed with activity. It was a considerably more modest business than the Kabukicho Grill: a clothes tailor. Considering their reputation, their choice of a legitimate front could hardly have been any more incongruous. Ryuji, a lieutenant in the Toshihiro-gumi, loaded his weapon. He was accompanied by seven men, all ready to roll.

"Hey, anybody know what actually happened to Yagi?" the newest arrival, one of the younger members, asked. Ryuji didn't know his name, nor did he care to. His type was a dime a dozen: young, dumb punks that thought they were a lot harder than they really were. Not part of his crew, of course- he was just a trusted senior member designated to oversee the business at hand. "The police were all over his place."

Nonetheless he deigned to answer the question. "Haven't you heard? Yagi got killed."

"Holy fuck. Did the police kill him?"

"No. They just found him dead at his place."

"Fuck. Who did then?"

Ryuji practically rolled his eyes at the question. How long have you been in this family, five minutes? Take a wild guess you dumb little shit. Rather than voice his thoughts he used a more neutral response. "20 to 1 says the Nakayama clan. Two of their own got killed and they're looking to return the favor. They certainly didn't waste any time."

"Oh fuck. Did he actually do it?"

Now THAT was actually a fair question. Ryuji shrugged. The killing of a rival crime family member was a serious offense unsanctioned, and he had neither heard of any such orders being given nor any reason why the deceased would be marked for death. But with criminals, a little personal emotion could override the rules and screw everything up. "Who knows? Maybe, maybe not. It sure looks like the Nakayama think so."

At least the juvie was smart enough to know what that all meant. "Fuck man, are we going to war?"

"20 to 1 says yes."


Elsewhere in Virtua City, a warehouse bustled with subdued activity. Guns were being packed into foam-filled containers and loaded into a van by yet another group of local criminals, this particular group made up of Americans. The man packing the last case conversed to his partners, who were milling around in front of a TV doling out the nightly news. The current topic: another homicide in the city. "Hey, are these for the same guys that got wasted on the highway?" he asked.

"What?" one of the others answered. "Who got wasted on the highway?"

"What? You're the one actually watching the news. You didn't hear about those two Japs that got murdered the other day? The word on the streets is that they were connected, like La Cosa Nostra. Except, you know, all Japanese and shit."

The third man joined in. "I don't know which family they were from. They might be; there's only two groups operating here you know. Maybe that's why they're buying all these guns."

The uninformed man commented. "A gang war... I like the sound of that. It sounds like good business!"

"Hear, hear!" the inquisitive man concurred.

"Hey, who's the other group?" the uninformed man asked. "Maybe we can sell them some guns too."

"Nah," the informed man replied. "Don't get your hopes up. Those Naka boys are a big-time international crime organization. They don't need us to get guns."

"I bet we could get them better guns than anybody else," the uninformed man boasted.

A new man entered the room, sporting sunglasses despite the fact that the sun already went down for the night. His arrival attracted the full attention of those present. "Are we ready?"

"Yes sir," the inquisitive man replied, stuffing the last couple weapons into the case double-time and slamming it shut. "Gimmie a hand here!" The informed man obliged, grabbing one end of the case. Together they carried it towards the waiting van.

The news turned from local to abroad. Some more shit went down in some Middle Eastern shithole: some insurgent attack killed three US soldiers. Standing within reach of the TV, Fang simply punched its power button. "Old news."


Yet somewhere else in the residential sector of Virtua City. A totally normal-looking house. The residents were Japanese, all far more youthful than the others on average- nobody was over the age of 30. They sat around a table, guns sharing space with half-eaten bowls of ramen. If Mr. Barrows was present, he could have identified three of them as men he saw at the highway double-homicide. Those currently present could identify the Molotov man as Shinji, who at the moment had just walked away to answer his ringing cell phone. "Yeah." He simply listened for a few seconds before finally speaking again. "Got it." He hung up almost immediately after speaking.

"That Koji?" one of the others asked. The witness would have been able to identify him as one of the highway killers as well. Others would identify him as Daigo.

"Yeah. He's almost here. It's going down." Everyone started scooping up their pieces. The favored choice: TEC-9. "Remember who the targets are here: the objective is to take out as many of them as we can. There are no points awarded for killing any gaijin."

A couple of them expressed (probable) exaggerated disappointment. Daigo asked, "Suppose we pop 'em anyway?"

"Whatever. It's all fair game." The purring of a car drifted in from the driveway. The group went out the back. Aside from the newly arrived sports car, several motorcycles were lined up down the driveway, along with a minivan that looked decidedly out of place keeping company with the flashier (and much faster) vehicles. They filed out: Shinji to the waiting car, three to the motorcycles, and one to the modest minivan.

Shinji slid into the passenger seat. His brother sat in the driver's seat across from him, the fourth man from the highway homicide. Koji looked over. "Let's do it."


Rendezvous: the parking structure above the 16th Avenue subway station. Three sporty Asian cars rolled onto the second floor and pulled up across from a parked van and two SUVs, where several men waited inside. East meets West- a Japanese crime syndicate and an American international smuggling cartel. Parity: eight men per group.

Everything was set up. The coast was clear. The American crew had shown up first and swept the garage for any people who should not have been present. Burke was staked out in the glass-enclosed stairwell, keeping a lookout for anybody coming from the outside; cop, civilian, or otherwise. He gave his all-clear: "We're good to go."

Showtime. The albino leader of the group stepped out the rear doors of the van. To those in the business he was known as Fang. To his own men he was either Boss or Sir.


A few blocks away, various vehicles taking different routes all suddenly converged into a single caravan. In the lead car, Shinji racked his submachine gun and casually hung his entire arm out the window. The parking structure loomed ahead. A man was visible standing in the stairwell, most likely a sentry. The probability was good enough for Shinji. Getting closer, he raised his weapon upwards and squeezed the trigger...


The deal was going perfectly routine up until Burke issued a warning: "We've got bogies incoming." Before Fang could ask for any further clarification, a burst of automatic fire erupted from outside that blew out the stairwell windows. Burke hit the deck. Everyone else jumped, looking around and reaching for their weapons.

Things happened fast. Fang grabbed Ryuji, then banged his head into the side of the van, holding the stunned leader up as a shield while pulling a knife to the man's throat. Everyone else scrambled for their weapons or the nearest cover, or both. Before anything else could happen Fang yelled, "HOLD YOUR FIRE!" It seemed to work; the Toshihiro hesitated with one of their senior officers fated to be in the crossfire.

With his neck on the line, Ryuji understandably echoed the order to his charges. Then he beat Fang to the million-dollar question: "What the fuck is this, man?" He seemed genuinely as confused as Fang did at the moment, but maybe it was just the hit on the head.

"That's what I want to know. Did you invite anybody else to our little meeting here?"

"The fuck are you talking about?"

There was no time to sort everything out before the sound of engines came roaring from below. Although the noise clearly indicated several vehicles, only a minivan came up the spiraling ramp to their level into view. The vehicle screeched to a halt sideways, blocking off the ramp. The occupants emerged and took cover behind the vehicle. More came charging up the ramp, taking up positions along the length of the concrete wall.

Fang pivoted around to face the newcomers. They looked to be Japanese as well, presumably more yakuza, and even more presumably affiliated with their buyers. The newcomers let their weapons do the talking, showing little (if any) concern for the well-being of the hostage. Considering the distance and weapons used, it was unsurprising that only Ryuji was struck, by just one single bullet out of the entire burst. Between the human shield and a Kevlar vest, the bullet stopped before doing any harm to Fang. Ryuji went down, pulling him along.

Everything went to hell after that. All other weapons present opened up. Several alarms went off as nearby cars caught stray bullets. Ryuji had slit his own throat on the knife's blade with this thrashing. Fang crawled out from under his dead weight and rolled to cover behind the van where his lieutenant Emerson and two other men had also taken up position behind. Most of the others were behind the SUV. Both vehicles had been strategically parked at angles in order to provide maximum cover in the event reinforcements had shown up like so. Emerson called out, "Sir!" It was almost impossible to hear over the cacophony of noise.

Fang drew his own weapon but peeked out to scope the situation before firing. He noticed that the newcomers and Toshihiro were firing at each other as well, clearly not acting in collusion. Unfortunately, the Toshihiro were also shooting at THEM, and his men had already reciprocated. It was probably a little too late to clear up hostile intentions at this point. The parties were now all involved in a three-way shootout.


All was quiet out on Route 101 during just another night shift on traffic duty. Hardy and Anderson stood to the side of the highway, between the concrete barrier and railing. Nick was at the railing, urinating off the highway. Mike held the radar gun and devoted half of his attention to the relatively low volume of cars passing by. "As Good As Dead."

"No way. Pack Up The Cats," Anderson responded.

"Cats is consistent, I'll admit that. On a scale of one to ten, every song ranks at least an 8… but Dead has more 10's. It might as well be called their greatest hits album. You've got Bound For The Floor, Eddie Vedder, Fritz's Corner, and even High-Fivin' Motherfucker. Cats just doesn't have any songs to really compete with those. Plus, Dead's a far more unique album, with the soul of grunge. It sounds like something only they could make."

"You sound like a Gen X'er. How old even were you when it came out?"

"So my dad listened to it. Blow me. Hey, are you done yet?"

"Yeah… but I am still gonna have to disagree on the albums."

Nick zipped up and turned. Mike passed the radar off and took the vacated spot at the railing. He unzipped and aimed for the sign of the truck rental depot below. After a moment of relief, he continued the discussion. "Okay, let's talk second best album then. What's yours?"

"I'll put Dead there. It's a great album... just not the greatest. You?"

"PJ Soles."

A flat, "What?" was the response. "You did NOT just say that."

"Yes I did, because it's an awesome album."

"Not more awesome than Cats."

"That's debatable." He zipped back up. "Certainly more diverse though." With a pause in the traffic, the officers climbed over the barrier and walked back to the median where their car was parked. They didn't get back inside yet, choosing instead to continue standing outside in the nice weather. "It's like they work on a schedule: every ten years the H makes one of their best albums. They did Dead in '96, PJ Soles in '04, Killer in '15-"

"So what, now you're saying that Cats is at best in fourth place?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

"No, THAT sounds like you don't know shit."

"It's got some really tough competition."

"Can't argue with that part," Nick conceded.

Despite their somewhat heated conversation, both men were still keeping vigilant ears on the constant chatter of the police radio- a necessary ability to learn on the job for sanity preservation. One call finally proved relevant to them. "All units in the vicinity... Shooting in progress at the parking structure above the subway station at 16th Avenue..." the dispatcher calmly announced with several years of practiced jadedness. "All units in the vicinity..."

The dispatcher ran on repeat. 16th Avenue- not too long a haul from their position on the highway with some American muscle. They were very much 'in the vicinity'. "Well hot damn," Mike said.

"Man," Nick said, "I think you just might be a trouble magnet."


Back in the firefight, Fang had already given his orders: escape. That was the standard operating procedure in case of trouble. The weapons were expendable; the priority was getting the hell out of there before the cops showed up. To that end, they'd positioned themselves right by the stairs for a quick exit on foot if not possible by car. Unfortunately, there was a snag. "We've got a shooter covering the stairs below us," Burke reported.

Fang barked orders into his Bluetooth piece for two men who were waiting a couple blocks away. "Meet us at the stairs on the outside! Be advised, we got at least one hostile on the ground floor."

One word indicated acknowledgment. "Comin'!"

The firefight continued in the meantime. None of his men had been hit as far as he could see. The Toshihiro hadn't given any thought to strategic positioning and thus were in an unenviable position within the crossfire. Beside Ryuji, they'd lost at least another of their own in the battle. Now the rest were spending most of the time staying down to avoid the firepower being poured upon them. The party crashers made no attempt to push up, making it clear that Fang's crew were the dominant force in this fight.

"Cover me! I'm going for the stairs!" Emerson and another close man nodded to signal they heard him. As they opened fire, he dashed the short distance into the stairwell where Burke waited on the landing between flights. Burke pointed a pair of fingers through the floor in the direction of the lower car park to indicate the locations of the waiting gunmen. Going down the stairs was out of the question. "Anybody outside?"

"Can't see, but don't think so."

"Your rides are on station!" As it turned out, the backup drivers answered the question; if there were any hostiles outside, they would have seen them. Fang crept forward and leaned out for a peek. The drivers rode their vehicles right up onto the grass and sidewalks, then got out and began firing over the low walls at the hostiles inside the garage. Good.

Emerson had appeared next to him at some point, awaiting his orders. How to get down? The stairs were still a dubious prospect. The windows had been all blown out, leaving nothing standing between inside and out except for a half-story drop onto the grass. It was a much safer choice than running down the stairs and hopefully not getting shot. "We're going out the window. Burke, you're first."

"Yes sir." Despite the affirmative answer, Burke's tone and expression indicated he wasn't too thrilled to be the guinea pig. He jumped over the railing and out the window... A moment later his whoop of triumph could be heard.

"My turn. You're in charge here now," Fang said to Emerson. He replicated Burke's maneuver, landing on his feet, then rolling on the grass. Burke had already joined the other men in firing back inside the garage. Fang did the same. So did each of the remaining men as they jumped down. Pretty soon the shooters were grossly outgunned and simply remained cowering behind the pillars they'd chosen for cover.

"Everybody's down!" Emerson announced. "Let's get the hell out of here!" Fang couldn't object to the idea. They all piled into the two SUV's, which were a slightly tight fit for ten adults. As they sped away, everyone was silent with relief. Upon noticing one of his men had managed to grab the briefcase of money, his mood improved. They'd left the guns behind, but with the money and with no casualties on their side, nothing was lost. It was ugly, but from a business perspective, this wasn't such a bad day after all...


Speeding down the lightly occupied streets, Hardy and his partner were making great time. Three blocks away from the address they cranked a hard turn at an intersection... and found themselves heading straight at an SUV coming the other way at about the same speed. "Shit!" both of the car's occupants exclaimed in unison. Collision imminent, he swerved to the right to avoid a head-on impact; the other driver thankfully correctly swerved to their right as well. One disaster averted, but a SECOND SUV threatened to do the same. Already committed to swerving back into the middle of the road, he could only fully hit the brakes and hope for the best. Both vehicles skidded towards each other...

Friction between the tires and road ultimately brought them both to a stop before a collision between vehicles did. Maybe a mere foot from catastrophe, the officers sighed in relief. THEN came a collision as the SUV suddenly lurched forward into their vehicle. The impact was minor- five miles an hour tops- but it was still whiplash-inducing. Mike still had his foot pressing on the brake, so the SUV struggled to push their car out of the way at such low speed. The person sitting in the front passenger seat of the SUV leaned out of their window, a submachine gun in hand. "Oh shit!"

Both officers instinctively ducked down as the shooting started, the bullets cracking but not penetrating the reinforced windshield. Protected for now at least, he drew his weapon with his right hand, passed it to his left, stuck it out the window, and fired back. At an angle with a non-dominant hand, it wasn't surprising the first couple shots didn't go where intended, but they did drive the shooter back inside the vehicle. He adjusted his aim and fired, this time putting a hole in the upper right of the windshield. He readjusted slightly and fired several more times, creating a nice tight spread of bullet holes. Unfortunately for the man riding shotgun, the SUV's windshield was NOT reinforced.

The driver of the SUV had ducked down and let off the gas. He ceased fire and assessed the situation. Was there anybody else in the vehicle? The answer came immediately as two more armed guys popped out of the rear windows on either side. "Fuck!" He decided retreat was the better option and threw the car into reverse as they opened up on their windshield. "God damn it!" He hit the gas and took off, frantically steering to keep from going off the street and into a storefront- it was a lot harder to steer a car going backwards at high speed. The shooting thankfully stopped, but the SUV roared forward again as if in chase. The slower vehicle might be able to overtake their faster one in forward gear, and he wasn't keen to see what would happen in that case.

They were coming up on the intersection. The other SUV had stopped slightly past it and was blocking a chunk of the street, as if waiting for them. He gripped the wheel tightly. "Hang the fuck on!" As soon as they passed the point of no return, he turned the wheel hard and sent them careening down a side street. Oversteer sent them heading for a storefront... and they were about to jump the curb. He cranked the wheel as much as possible in the opposite direction. The car spun over 180° and banged the opposite curb before coming to a stop.


Fang ducked as a fusillade of bullets tore through the SUV's interior. Blood and brain matter blew out the back of Burke's head and sprayed him. "Get us the hell out of here!" he yelled. Emerson and the man on the other side of him leaned out the windows and fired. The police car retreated and they took off forward. The police went down a side street while they blasted straight ahead, swerving around the other SUV, which took off after them. The police did not try to follow.

One of his men dead; it was not such a good day after all.


Hardy killed the siren, then turned to his partner. "Holy shit, you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

The criminals had carried on and not stopped. In the resulting quiet he became aware of gunfire coming from the direction they had been heading in the first place. "Hey... You hear that? There's still a shootout going on over there."

"Oh great, so there's MORE assholes with guns around here to shoot at us."

Mike put the car back in drive and started rolling. He tossed his gun into Nick's lap. "Reload that for me and call it in."

Nick grabbed the mic. "Dispatch, Adam-Mary-2 is at the shootout in progress. Two suspect vehicles have already fled the scene... Dark SUV's, no details, but occupants are armed and extremely dangerous... Last seen heading east on Busey Avenue. We need backup at the address! Over!" Once finished with that, he took a magazine out of the glove box and reloaded his partner's weapon.

They crept up to the corner just short of the address. The parking garage was still rocking with gunfire and car alarms. The unholy racket seemed to be entirely coming from an upper level. There was no visible activity on the ground floor. Hardy took his weapon back from his partner. "Well, you ready to do this?"

"Seriously? You wanna go in THERE? NOW?"

"Well, it's kind of our job to go in there and restore order." Even as he spoke, he was fitting his uniform's cap on.

"Shit. I wish I had your unwavering sense of duty. Do we at least have a plan here?"

He was silent for a moment. "We have a shotgun in the trunk."

"Oh, that's even better."


Shinji was disappointed with how the attack was going. Only two or three targets were killed. Akira got nicked in the shoulder and was too busy clutching the painful wound to keep shooting. The American gun dealers had proven to be far better skilled to say the least. Fortunately, their escape was of no concern to them; it just meant that the heat was off them now.

But it didn't last long. Rikiya came running up the ramp yelling. "Cops are here! We gotta go!" They'd gotten here fast.

Nobody waited for his orders. They were already scrambling for their rides. Shinji retrieved a Molotov cocktail from the van, lit the wick, and dropped it inside the vehicle. It went up right away; the interior had been doused with gasoline. Now the van was a roadblock. He ran back for the car where his brother and several others already waited. Everyone else went for the bikes, some riding passenger.


The Toshihiro, for their part, acted quickly if not exactly coordinated. They grabbed the last of the weapons not already loaded into the cars. By some miracle all of their cars' tires had emerged unscathed. One quick-thinking yakuza drove his car backwards into the burning van, ramming it out of the way enough to clear a path.


The two agents of the VCPD stood at the open trunk of their vehicle. Sergeant Hardy cradled the standard-issue Mossberg. He racked the pump and loaded a live shell. "Let's do it." They ran back up to the corner and peeked at the garage. There was visible activity on the first floor now. While they couldn't make out what was happening, the sound of revving motors gave a pretty good idea. Several vehicles came tearing out of the structure: several bikes and a sports car, all escaping in the opposite direction.

"Well, looks like the bad guys have left," Anderson stated. Indeed, the gunfire had already ceased about a minute ago. Normally that would be a good thing- it would mean the situation was over. But if it was over, that might mean they were too late to save anybody.

There was another roar of engines, this time from an upper level. "Maybe not," Mike said. "Let's go!" He dashed across the street and pressed up against the wall, followed by his surprised partner a moment later. Now nobody inside could shoot at them without leaning out of the building. They crept along the low outer wall and stopped at the entrance to survey the situation. There appeared to be nobody on the ground floor. There was a crash from above. The officers entered the garage as a trio of tricked-out cars similar to the one that had just left came down the ramp. Standing between them and the exit, both men leveled their weapons on the lead vehicle. Mike put out a hand and yelled out its intended meaning: "STOP!"

The cars did not stop; if anything, they accelerated. He lowered his aim, sighting in on the right front tire of the lead car, and fired. Buckshot shredded the tire. Now he had to decide in which direction he would jump to safety. The car veered to the right, so he jumped left. The driver overcompensated and swerved directly into one of the support pillars. The car behind plowed into the rear of the suddenly-stopped vehicle and ricocheted off into a parked car. The last vehicle plowed into the first as well, this time practically T-boning it. "God damn boy, nice shot!" Anderson exclaimed.

"Uh... yeah..." was all he could say in answer, too busy gawking at the aborted escape that his shot had utterly stopped dead in its tracks. The occupants of the cars seemed to be in only marginally better shape than their rides. Seizing the moment, he rushed forward with weapon raised and barked commands at the stunned men. "DON'T MOVE! GET YOUR HANDS UP!" The words were punctuated by racking the shotgun, ejecting the used shell and putting a fresh one in. His partner was soon right beside him. They repeated their commands, just in case they hadn't understood the first time.

The suspects did not move, but only two actually put up their hands. Everyone else fidgeted and darted eyes. The officers swept their weapons back and forth to cover the suspects. Mike began to have second thoughts about this plan. It had seemed like a perfectly sound tactic ten seconds ago: confront the bad guys while they were too dazed and disoriented to do anything. The mathematics however were not in their favor: two cops and six crooks. This was starting to feel like a really bad idea.

A sudden movement drew his attention along with his weapon like a magnet. Somebody else had raised their arms into view... with a gun in them. Hardy fired. The man took most of the spread but the unfortunate person seated next to him caught some buckshot too. Everybody else ducked, for a moment at least. One came back up with a gun at the ready. Mike aimed at the new threat, but Nick beat him to the punch and shot first. It was a chain reaction now- another perp in the closest car stuck a gun out over the window and fired blind in their direction.

A bullet struck him off to the side of the stomach. The force of the impact spun him around, sending his cap flying off. Just as he recovered, Nick practically shoved him to the ground behind the outer wall of the garage. "Thanks, partner." Not that I really needed that...

"You okay?"

"Vest stopped it." The officers got back on their feet and knees to fire an answering salvo: one shotgun blast and at least five handgun rounds. The criminals climbed out of the wrecked vehicles, some crawling out windows instead of crumpled doors. One had an SMG, the rest had handguns.

Anderson was yelling into his mic right now. "We've got at least four armed suspects on the first floor of the parking garage! Need backup, over!" The two officers popped out, fired, and ducked back into cover. The low wall made Hardy hunch over in order to remain hidden. Anderson at least had a complete pillar at his end to stand behind. He wanted to find himself a better position.

"Keep it up here. I'll go around and flank them." Drawing his Guardian, he started crawling to ensure he kept below the wall. When he reached the corner, he snuck a peek; everybody seemed to be in the same places. He continued crawling until he was sure that he had passed the shooters. Another peek confirmed it. He vaulted the wall and crept among the cars behind the gunmen.

The remaining criminals were in pairs, one on each side of the garage. They were all focused on Anderson; apparently none had wondered what happened to the other cop. He advanced undetected behind one group, planning to take out the guy with the SMG first once he got into comfortable range. He was JUST about where he wanted to be when his intended #2 swung back into cover… facing his direction. With the element of surprise lost, he shot him first instead. The SMG man whirled around in surprise. Mike racked his weapon and swung it over to him… The man chose to run, diving over the hood to the opposite side of the car just as he pulled the trigger. The blast missed and punched a hole in the windshield. Time to reload.

A bullet passed by much too close for comfort- at least one person in the other group knew he was here too. He dropped into a sitting position behind his own car and started reloading the shotgun. The SMG man was firing too now. The car windows shattered and rained glass onto him. He was just about to load the last shell when a movement to his right caught his attention. FLANKED! He dropped the shell, pumped the last loaded round into the chamber, and swung the shotgun in the general direction of his flanker. The man dove backwards just before he fired. Then he hauled ass.

He crouch-ran between the cars next row over while they got shot up. He felt a bullet part his hair and hit the deck. Head below the chassis, he could see the feet of the shooter directly across from him. An idea formed. He got back up and navigated back around the ends of the cars, ending up between one of them and a sizable pillar. It was good cover. He swung out... The SMG man was scanning for him, spotting him at the same time. He fired first, sending SMG Man ducking back down. Crouching, he then aimed at a point on the ground a couple feet in front of the suspect's position and fired again. The pellets skipped off the pavement at a low angle and went underneath the car. SMG Man yelped and fell over, feet flailing as if on fire.

Another one down, but not necessarily out just yet. The angle of the cars gave him cover from the shooters on the other side of the garage, so he ran straight for the downed man's position, stopping short at the last car. That was smart, because SMG Man was still full of fight and fired to discourage coming any closer. The firing continued for a while despite the lack of an exposed target. As soon as the barrage subsided, he swung back out to find the man looking at his empty weapon as if in complete disbelief that it couldn't just keep firing indefinitely. Then he looked at HIM. His final word for posterity: "FUCK!"

Flashes of red and blue announced the arrival of at least one additional unit. The odds had now turned around in the favor of the forces of law and order. The two remaining shooters turned their attention to the new arrivals.

He scoped the situation and decided that the next closest pillar would make a good position. He certainly didn't want to let the enemy pull the same under-the-car trick on him. He'd just have to cross a couple empty spaces to reach the pillar. He shifted the Mossberg to his left hand, drew his Guardian with the right, then charged forward, firing to cover his advance. The blast from the shotgun nearly blew the weapon out of his grip. Reaching the pillar, he holstered the handgun and went back to the shotgun.

Bullets hit the pillar and chipped off pieces of concrete. When the firing ceased, he took in the situation: at least two officers, Anderson likely one of them, were in their original position, and another was moving along the wall opposite his location. The bad guys were now almost completely surrounded.

At least one of them realized their predicament and yelled, "LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!" They made a break between the cars on the other side of the garage to the opposite side of the garage. They fired in his direction, as he was the officer who was most in their way. He spun around to the other side of the pillar and fired his last shells. Anderson and the other officers were shooting as well.

One suspect dropped out of sight. The other spun around and sprawled onto a car's hood. The cops ceased fire. Hardy dropped the now-empty shotgun and pulled his sidearm again. The guy on the hood jumped back up, raised his weapon, and yelled defiantly- pure BANZAI! The cops resumed fire, hitting him several more times in the crossfire, only ceasing again when he went back down.

There was no more movement. Was the other guy hit too? By now the officers were all inside the garage. They signaled to each other: you stand at the end; we'll walk down the sides. Doing so, they had all the angles covered, yet the last guy was nowhere to be seen. "WHERE IS HE?" Anderson asked, practically yelling despite the close proximity in order to be heard over the cacophony of car alarms. It was a damn good question.

The answer should have been obvious. HE'S UNDER A CAR. Mike started to get on his hands and knees to look below the chassis of the car next to him when shots whizzed by right underneath him. 'SHIT!" He LAUNCHED himself back upright. Anderson jumped onto the nearest parked car. He followed suit, crashing through the remains of a rear window and tumbling into the backseat. The gunfire continued, and more yelling was heard from another direction. He rose up to look out and saw the other officers climbing on top of cars as well. The whole thing looked like a Bugs Bunny and Yosemite Sam routine- it would have been hilarious if not for the risk of bodily harm.

The gunfire stopped. The officers all pointed their weapons in the general direction the shots came from. The shooter didn't show himself. He could be waiting for another target to present itself or crawling away.

Mike didn't particularly feel like presenting himself as a target. He ripped off the rearview mirror, opened one of the doors, and stuck his hand out below the car. He angled the object, trying to locate the hidden suspect. But it was dark and difficult to pick a person out of the shadows. The shooter didn't have any problem noticing something reflecting a glint of light though. He felt more than heard the cracks of gunfire, but muzzle flash gave away the shooter's position.

Found you. But the shooter wasn't half bad; if he'd had stuck his head out instead it might have been over. A logical, if risky strategy formed. He got literally into his partner's face to be clearly heard. "I found him, but it's dicey without a distraction. It's going to suck, but one of us is going to have to run out as a distraction."

"You mean I have to run out as a distraction while you shoot him," Anderson said flatly.

"Well, I'm the better shot, and you're a better runner."

"I'm the smoker," his partner pointed out.

"I'm still the better shot."

"Not on a bad day."

"Okay fine, we'll decide this like men." Mike stuck out an upright fist. Anderson held out one too as if to fist bump. "Ready? One, two, three..." The officers raised and lowered their fists in time to the count... "Go!" Mike kept his hand as a close fist. Nick extended the index and middle finger.

"Fuck." Anderson took a deep breath. "Okay, you had better fucking get this guy." He slid over to the edge of the car... "YOU READY?"

Mike laid flat on the seat. "READY!"

Anderson had apparently taken off, judging from his yelling, "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck..." Not yet- Mike waited a beat... then heard gunfire. "OH FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKING SHOOT HIM!" He poked his head and gun arm out underneath the vehicle's chassis. The world was upside down but he could see the gunman was still hiding underneath the same car, presently occupied firing at the running legs of his partner. He fired several shots. The gunman appeared to flatten against the pavement. He fired another salvo to be sure. The world suddenly erupted into flames before his very eyes. It suddenly occurred to him there was a strong smell of gas- the suspect must have punctured the gas tank earlier.

He pulled himself up and out of the car. Instinctively he called for his partner. "NICK!" He didn't need to worry; Anderson hadn't stopped running or cursing, and was now jumping over the outer wall. He ran from the car towards the other two officers, who were still perched atop another and looked completely bemused at what was happening.

"DID YOU GET 'EM?" one asked.

"GET DOWN!" he yelled back.

"WHAT?"

"TAKE COVER!" He waved his arms in a manner that he hoped illustrate the point. Whether or not it worked, the officers managed to get the idea just as he dove across the hood of the car they had previously been on, landing beside them. They hunkered down and waited... And waited... And waited... And then exchanged looks, the other officers clearly wondering what all the urgency had been about. Mike slowly peeked out...

"HEY, WHAT ARE WE TAKING COVER FROM?" one of the officers asked.

"ONE OF THE CARS MIGHT BLOW UP."

"WHAT? WHICH ONE'S-?" The anticipated explosion interrupted the exchange, shaking the nearby cars and blowing out any surviving windows. They all covered their heads as debris rained down. Several fire sprinklers started raining water down. The officers slowly rose to survey the destruction.

Mike pointed and said, "THAT ONE."


DVD Commentary: Well, this took a surprisingly long time. I actually had the story done up until this point and posted elsewhere, but I wasn't satisfied with the shootout. Specifically, I had to rewrite it when I realized that Rage only did the under-the-car trick on one guy and then apparently never thought to use it again against the others. It doesn't end as climatically as my first draft though (crossfire kill.) 3RD DRAFT UPDATE: Now it ends even more climatically than ever before!

I originally had the VCPD with Benelli M4's as their shotgun of choice, which appeared last chapter (and also in the third game.) However, I found that the weapon is exclusively (semi) automatic with no pumping. BOO! Rule of cool must be followed. Fortunately, despite the obvious advantages of automatic shotguns law enforcement still overall prefer pump-actions. Part of it is simply because they're cheaper but...

FREE LESSON: automatic shotguns eliminate pumping because they utilize the recoil from a shot to do the work instead... or at least that's the theory. Not all loads are made equal though. Less-than-lethal ammo doesn't have as much kick and therefore doesn't produce as much recoil, running the risk of not generating enough energy to pump the next round in and leaving an officer with his dick in his hands and a pissed-off suspect. Not a pretty situation. Pumps don't have that worry. THE MORE YOU KNOW...

Of course, it wouldn't be unusual for a SWAT team to carry an automatic one since they're kind of the 'undiplomatic squad'.

The young Toshihiro with the tendency to say "fuck" once a sentence last chapter is the same guy here. I think he'll be listed in the credits as Fuckuza. UPDATE: Nick probably one-ups him now...