In the darkness of the night, the floors of the building rested in a lonely and decadent dream, barely illuminated by the moonlight and the few light poles outside. The footsteps echoed in the corridors as the enforcer walked cautiously forward. He wielded the dominator tightly as he tilted his head, sharpening each of his senses.

"I heard some rumors I'd like you to clear up, Makishima. Is it true you lured the police? Why did you help us if you're sending us those death dogs now?" a man inquired with a hoarse voice. The sound of a knife being thrust against wood broke the silence. "Whatever. We'll manage as always."

The man's stout silhouette fell into his range of vision, and he slowly directed his arms toward it. The familiar feminine, mechanized voice made its way into his ears like a cold whisper of death, while the lower portion of the weapon underwent an elaborate transformation, by means of rotating and sliding parts.

Crime Coefficient is 324. Enforcement mode is Lethal Eliminator. Aim carefully and eliminate the target.

The enforcer narrowed his eyes and breathed out softly, waiting a few seconds before pulling the trigger. The shot rumbled throughout the room and when the energy came into contact with the man's back, it affected all organic matter instantly. It only took a few seconds for the mass to swell, spreading throughout his body until it exploded definitively, reducing what had been a human being until then, to nothing more than simple fragments bathed in an intense crimson.

When he advanced into the conflict zone, he was overwhelmed by the darkness in the room. The cold night air pierced his bones, and he stood beside the human remains, looking in different directions like a child lost in his own nightmare. The reflection of a sort of knife separating from its handle made him squint, but he did not manage to direct his dominator at the figure, so the trigger remained blocked. He had no time to react, as a few fleeting steps froze his blood and a direct, sharp blow forced him to drop his weapon, which was fired backwards. He could hear the whistle of the knife brandishing itself in the air, each time he tried to cut through his skin with fluid and lethal attacks, some of which he barely managed to avoid.

Lack of practice was his undoing, and when he made the mistake of going ahead too early, he let out a pitiful grunt as he felt a sharp burn on his forearm. Blood began to flow like a scarlet river, and despite the darkness he knew that the slash was serious. He staggered for a few moments like a creature and took a few steps backwards, absorbed in the magical rhythm that the dance had acquired. His opponent waited patiently for him to stand up again, as if he were giving him time to recover, as if he were a simple, battered toy that he wanted to observe, before deforming him completely.

If there was any control left in the fluctuating sea of his mind, the enforcer did not seem to show it in his actions, as he pounced like an angry beast, giving all sorts of kicks and punches with the main objective of snatching the knife from him. He swore to glimpse the shadow of a smile on the man's face, as if he enjoyed his endless hopes, and that distraction caused a sharp blow to his nose, which puzzled him for a few moments, and the pain was such that he knew it had broken on impact. Slowly, his head began to spin. He saw shadows where there were none, the flash of the knife coming from the most inhospitable places, like lonely, incandescent lightning.

The next kick he performed cost him dearly, since the man, of all the possible movements he could make, chose to bend down and grab him with expert hands, both of the leg and of the neck. In a movement that seemed a blur to the enforcer, he ended up on the ground, with a throbbing pain in the back of his neck and a strong dizziness. Although his eyesight became increasingly blurred, he could make out the sickly way in which the man's lips parted in a feline smile, thirsting to spill the red of his blood on the blade, while he enjoyed contemplating his inability to breathe. Before everything melted into black, he heard a female voice call out his name.

"Daiki-san!"

The surprise was fleeting, but no less lethal. The intruder stopped a few feet away, looking at the figure hunched over the motionless body of the enforcer, with a razor in his right hand, about to plunge it into his skull. She clicked her tongue as she felt her dominator, realizing that if she shot him, she could seriously injure the enforcer because he was only a few inches away from his body. It was then that she decided to throw herself towards the man, who had no face due to the darkness of the room. As soon as he heard her footsteps, he jumped up to face her, raising the knife in front of him in a defensive position.

And in the blink of an eye, she joined in the dance which, little by little, began to synchronize with her. While the man knew how to react at every step she took, she recognized his feints and, for that reason, managed to avoid most of his movements, which changed shape and place at every moment, but were focused, in particular, on the most vulnerable areas of the human body. She was not as agile as that man, but she knew how to act, and when he attacked with his razor in the direction of her face, she grabbed him by the forearm and gave him a sharp blow on the throat, followed by another behind the knee with the sole of her shoe. The man let out a dry, uncontrollable cough and fell to his knees.

At that moment, the young woman had enough time to take advantage of his vulnerability, coming to snatch the knife, which made it turn in the opposite direction. The edge of the blade was just inches from the skin on his neck, but she managed to hold herself back and stood behind him, panting, not completely carried away by the ecstasy of struggle. Under the darkness of that room, as the coughing stopped and silence hung over both of them, she heard a guttural sound from the man, who bowed his head a few inches in a complacent, proud gesture, even though death loomed behind him.

"It'd be my pleasure to die by your hand, Yashiro," he whispered in a tempting, defiant tone. "And yet, you'd be the last person I would allow to replace me."

The woman frowned slowly, recognizing the majestic and gentle voice, even though she had not heard it in a long time. She could not stop holding the blade, and a shudder of surprise ran down her spine. The fear she had felt until then burned out like a candle on a windy night and she sensed her whole body beginning to relax, the grip on the handle losing the tension that had kept her so expectant.

"Makishima Shougo."

At the utterance of that name, the man made an exact turn at an unintelligible speed, leaning forward as she lunged with the razor and sliding in such a way as to break down her defenses, grabbing her by the blue police jacket and leaving her at his mercy. Yashiro closed her eyes for what seemed like endless seconds, sensing the cold cement on the back of her head, which was beating at a frantic pace, almost more than her heart. When she opened them again, she found the mesmerizing amber eyes that kept staring at her. The blade had returned to his hands and was located on Yashiro's skin, right on her neck.

However, the little force he applied eventually gave away completely and an enigmatic smile danced on his lips, softening his whole appearance, until he finally decided to get up. A few seconds were enough for him to wipe the blade with a cloth, removing the trace of blood. Then he tucked it away in his back trouser pocket with excessive delicacy, as if to protect it from even the tiniest dust. Yashiro remained with her back to the ground unable to come to her senses, but when she looked up, she could make out his hand in the darkness, and as she took it from his forearm, he responded by exerting a counter force to help her stand up.

"You've improved a lot since last time," he remarked, his grip lingering, as he studied her features. "But you got to work on the rear."