CHAPTER I

"Kennel to Hound, Kennel to Hound—what's your status?" Calm static flooded the earpiece. "The target's entering the vicinity. Don't get caught."

"Hound to Kennel," a finger is pressed against the earpiece, his voice hushed as if to hide from prying eyes and ears. "You know better than to assume that I'll ever get caught." With that said, he chuckled and released his hold on the earpiece. His eyes, colour reminiscent of sunsets, glanced from the automated doors, then to the ceiling. The earpiece emits another static.

"That's what got you to respond?"

The click of heels reverberate in the entrance hall, approaching the reception. The Hound yawns, shifting position on the leather couch to lean on. His hands fidget on his phone as if to pretend he's busy while the man is approached by another man. The Hound's fingers tampered with his phone's camera, making sure the flash is off before zooming and taking a picture of the men walking to the elevators. He secures his phone into his back pocket before leaving the couch, heading to where they are.

When he found the two subjects of interest, he pulled his Bluetooth headphones from around his neck to on top of his head, with hands hiding in his jacket. He quickly adjusts his bearings as he entered the same lift as the two men talking business, and pressed a random floor past their designated one. He leans against the wall, head down as if he had no business in their conversation, and playing whatever music was in his phone at a low volume.

"The project is almost complete. And as far as concerns for outside interference, they've already been dealt with." The target spoke in Japanese, and in a whisper towards the other man who nodded. "Tomorrow morning seems to be a good time to do the announcement."

"Thank God," the other man expressed in the same language. "They won't know what hit them."

Their conversation briefly came to a halt as the lift alerts and reach their floor. However, when the door parted in the middle, the three are met with a horrific sight that the city lights of Tokyo brought spotlight to at night. The Hound pulls his headphones back to his neck, as if to drown out the chipper music from his phone.

As before them are vermilion spots, splashes, and trickles found on the wrecked walls, some broken doors, and cracked bullet-proof windows decorating the scene with the most graphic of post-dismemberment of people one could witness in a lifetime. It evoked a scream from the two men in the elevator, backing to the very corners of the lift. One of them and their legs gave up, sliding to the ground while staring in disbelief.

"Quick…! S-Somebody! Call the police!" The other exclaimed.

"Head back to the reception and tell them what you saw. Make sure they don't allow anyone into this floor." The Hound was the first to act, looking over his shoulder to the rattled men as he stepped out the lift. It prompted one of the panicked voices to reach him. "But what about you? What are you going to do?"

The Hound digs into his pockets, pulling out a pair of black gloves to put on his hands. He registers the man's question, but to play to their panic and leave him alone, he replies. "I'm staying here. Gonna make sure the crime scene stays untouched."

"Crime scene...?! But...!" The man was about to question him further, but slightly becoming impatient, he snapped at the man.

"Go!" The expected response was met, and the man flinched before commanding the doors to close with a button. The number on the screen of the lift changes, descending as instructed.

Stepping into the area, the kick of the metallic scent disturbs his guts. Yet he presses on, avoiding soiling his shoes of the same substance as the hallway is showered with. He noticed the blood's dark shade, indicating that this... Massacre was done earlier. Its splattered traces lead to the potential gore hiding behind a reddened door, found at the end of the hallway across his position.

More cautious than just prior, he activates his earpiece and conveys his situation, pulling his phone out, turning the music off, and taking a picture of the scene. Just in case. "Hound to Kennel—postpone the operation." He reports in English.

A flash of static and his earpiece responds. "What, finally jinxed yourself and got caught, Hound? Wait—Why is the target back at the reception?"

Hound hears a shift in his earpiece. It captures the Kennel's attention. Good. It's just in time for him to send his picture of the scene to his partner. A brief moment later, he hears the familiar sound of Kennel's phone ring. An amount of silence filled the other side of the earpiece, giving the Hound some little time to inspect the scattered pieces of the human anatomy on the soiled tiles.

They all seemed to be done in by the same weapon. The clean slice of the limbs, heads, and torsos suggests the use of a long blade. While he can also argue a thin yet sturdy wires, these are improbable of such cuts. Not to mention, there were also-

"HOLY SHIT, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!" The exclamation made him flinch and take out his earpiece for the sake of his hearing, but not far enough to be inaudible. He brings it back to his ear as he speaks.

"That's the reason behind why our target's back down there." Hound resumes his investigations. Past the bloodbath, there are holes in the wall that compelled him to identify as small bullet shells he pried out with a mechanical pencil from his pocket. He takes a picture of it as well as some pictures of the lacerated human bodies to send to Kennel. He's not sorry for the soft gag he heard from Kennel. "Someone really came in here and cut them all down, huh?"

"What the fuck are you still doing there, Hound?! Leave the area, Jesus!"

"I will." He then turns his communication off, later adding, "in a bit."

He observes the wall again. Something about it makes him curious. The bullet holes are erratic enough to be firing in all directions, even the ceiling isn't spared—but not including one direction: His own. Did these guys hit their marks in the process? Or were they all deflected by this assumed sword? Maybe both?

With nothing of interest further arose from his inspection, he turns to the final spot in mind—The red door at the end of the hallway. He stares at it for a moment, considering to back away from the ominous vibes he's getting from it. But his curiosity outweighs his fight or flight instincts, taking light steps as he nears and maneuver around the sundered bodies. He feels his limits of stomaching this scene, but he's finally reached the door with a hand paused in the air when he was aiming for the doorknob.

C'mon, Hound, what's stopping you now when you've come all the way here?

He slowly breathes in and out. As he does, he makes sure not to exude too much noise as his fingertips made contact with the doorknob. He then slides his palm around it, gripping firmly. His eyes closed. One final amplification of courage and he opens his determined eyes, twisting the knob and pushing the door open.

Quickly, he ducked and rolled on his shoulder further inside the room. He's crouched and manipulates his weight to turn around and face the door in a fighting stance, fist at a clench. The Hound exhaled, a small laugh escaping him in the process, caught off-guard. "…well, fuck my life."

A sturdy sword both of beauty and morbidity, coated in blood, landed close to the floor by where he previously was. His copper eyes trailed the weapon back to its extremely composed wielder. A wielder wearing a costume accustomed to darkness. Well, almost all of it, but the man's left side of the arm and mask. A mask that stares at him, intrigued.

"Good reflexes, kid." The man regarded him in his deep voice, and... in English?

"Aw, shucks, mister!" The Hound replies in the same language, sneering through the fringe of his ebony hair. A prevailing inanition in his voice hides the relief of not being sundered. "If I hadn't just escaped death, I'd have been completely flattered."

"You shouldn't have stuck your nose in, is all, Hound."

The sneer on the Hound's face drops. How did he know his alias? "Do I know you from somewhere, mister? Because I don't recall a killer in my list of friends."

The man feigns wonder, then instantly shifts his posture. He takes a step forward, his sword slicing downwards. However, the Hound narrowly dodges and corners himself, back against the wall. The man preps a second assault—slicing across his feet though he hopped over it, leaping away from the corner by using the wall as a way to change his trajectory to land on top of one of the desks in the room. He hears his heart pounding in his head.

Fuck, this guy's really tall, huh? Got a long fucking reach on him. The man continues from where he left off. "Maybe I'm in your enemies list then."

"Hah. I guess someone's finally come for me then. Whose relative's family or friend I helped sent to prison hired you?" I really shouldn't be playing with this guy. I'll die. But he has to at least know something, and the events that lead up to this, manipulating his semantics for the man to spill some kind of information that might go over his head.

"Almost there, kid." The man mockingly encourages him. From what? His intentional misjudgment, or from how the man looks like he caught on to his semantics? "Just an unhappy customer." The man seems to indulge in giving him something anyways.

Ah, well, that's kinda irritating.

"Like, a rival company?" The Hound tries to keep his composure, briefly glancing at the dead body seated on the couch past the assassin. He couldn't help but ask. The Hound and his detective agency were hired to protect the agendas of this company. That dead man's company. Which is why he was hired as an undercover agent for them for a few months now to prevent any leaks from potential double agents. I guess this means we're laid off, too.

"If that's what you want to believe." Mixed with his thought, the answer the Hound got didn't stop his frown. Furthermore, their encounter is cut short; a flash of blue and red filled a bit of the unlit room.

"They're here." The man eases his form as he vocalized what they've both tried to avoid while they remain on this floor. "Nice talk, kid." The man turns his back from him, unconcerned by the authorities that will soon catch this strange and dangerous man.

"You're trapped, and you haven't even killed me. You're gonna be leaving a witness in your trail." The Hound sounded haughty of what the man will be dealing with, for the only way out of this floor is the elevator. Privileges of the passed owner of the building, reserving an entire floor. Hound's client's company. "So where are you going, mister?"

"Where do you think?" He sounded as if he were… amused. Why is he amused? The man returns his attention to him as he was sheathing the sword in the scabbard on his back. "Your involvement is not a part of my contract."

The Hound had more to say, but it was cut off by the appearance of a gun in the man's hand, aiming in his direction. He short-hopped at the edge of the table, bringing his weight down to topple the surface and turn it into a cover. But what the firearm aimed at before the thundering Thump! Thump! Thump! instead, was the window past him.

Then the series of heavy footfalls that follow finally made him look up—and witnesses the man's huge figure leap and cover his front with his limbs to the window that finally shatters to his weight. He makes an impossible escape from the building he's in, to the roof of the shorter building, thirty feet away.

The detective's mouth gapes. The most surprising throughout this was the fact that the man rolled onto his shoulder and landed safely on the other side of this building. The guy even had the nerve to look back at him and mockingly salute to him before parkouring onto the other roofs of buildings. It took a couple moments to register that his earpiece was sounding off. "Hound? Hound?! Hound, this is Kennel. Answer me, Hound!"

While the Hound has a lot of questions and curiosities arising from this moment on, he made it his top priority to make it out of the floor first, and leave the building entirely.