Chapter 28
Turning Point
It was clear to her what he liked. Black coffee without sugar, a bit bitter, with a spoonful of milk. While the drink steeped, Shiho glanced at the shrunken detective muttering incoherently across the kitchen table. For the past few hours, he had been pouring over the files provided to him by the FBI.
"There haven't been any new leads," Jodie-sensei informed them, the woman exhausted from the never-ending re-con missions. A week has passed since the incident in Otaru, and a media shitstorm had ensued after the live broadcast. It had been a wild ride, and the best Shiho could do was endure Shinichi's teasing glance every time a segment described her as the "beautiful, mysterious scientist."
Public speculation was sparked by newspaper articles, reports, and social media posts. Within it all were uncanny theories and questions.
Who was she? Where did she come from? And was she connected to the Organization still being talked about?
Considering the timing of news reports and revelations, it wasn't surprising that a connection would be made. A strange tale, some of which borders on the truth while others are pure fiction. Her favorite was one she had read earlier.
"Satsuki Fujita—an alien or government secret project?"
At best, it was hilarious and, at worst, an eye opener into abilities she hadn't realized she had.
"Supposedly, I can read minds," she read, "And bring divine intervention to the world, through, get this, my charm."
"Truly the second coming of christ indeed," Shinichi quipped as she shrugged.
"Why did you even bother framing it?" he shakes his head as he looked at the article pinned haphazardly to the wall.
"Because," she mocked, "It isn't every day you're likened to mother mary…isn't it?"
He scoffed as she smirked.
With the passing of the days, the debacle, which was the report, began to die down. It didn't take long for Satsuki Fujita to fade into obscurity. Social media attention spans were short, and there was still no news from the Black Organization. Renya Karasuma's last words continue to hang over them like a noose, a waiting game. And life went on as usual, despite the tension.
"Thank you, Shiho," Shinichi murmured as she placed the mug of coffee next to him.
"You should rest," she observed the eyebags under his eyes. His blue suit had wrinkles and stains, and his black hair was a mess. "I would once I have—"
He yelped as she forced the laptop shut. The screen narrowly missing his fingers. Gawking at her, his expression shifted to one of annoyance.
"You should rest," she repeated with a Cheshire grin, "after all, children shouldn't be awake so late at night, was it not?"
"Stop using my advice against me," he groaned, eventually taking the mug of coffee and drinking it. Leaning back, he placed an arm over tired eyes, closing them for a moment. Nestling a headache that comes with consecutive all-nighters.
"Why are you up?" he asked after a while, glancing at the time. It was three in the morning, an unholy time to be awake.
The antidote currently bubbling in the basement, another failure. There were times when she resented her thoroughness. It would seem that finding a permanent cure would be difficult, even with the data hacked from the organization.
Peering out the windows, she stared listlessly at the dark, starless skies. Shadows stretched across the floors of the mansion. As usual, he noticed it. Reaching out, Shinichi slips his hands into hers.
"Nightmares?"
Shiho was tempted to tell a lie, but something about his sincere gaze prevented her from doing so.
"It's the same as always," she said hesitantly—still finding it hard to share her personal thoughts. However, he never forced, and she could only sigh in resignation.
"I can always sing you a lullaby if you can't sleep," he grinned.
"You're tone deaf, Kudou," she mocked as he chuckled, hands squeezing gently.
The warmth of his touch quelled the raging nightmare which had assaulted her hours earlier. The images left her soaked in sweat as the terror settled like an anchor in her bones.
"I know what you're going to say," she eyed him before he could even start.
"Well, then you should listen to my advice," he suggested.
"It's nothing I can't handle. Worry about yourself, Shinichi. With the rate you're working, you'll probably stumble across your own corpse first," she scoffed.
"Don't call the kettle black," he frowned, "You have been working hard, too."
"Yes, but I am different."
"Oh? How so?"
"I'm an alien, remember—a messiah."
"Enough with the article already," Shinichi groaned as she chuckled.
"Ara, you've got a problem, corpse—"
He was suddenly standing before her. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he faced her. Their noses were barely touching, Shinichi smelling of sweat and coffee. Stunned, Shiho could not pull away— embarrassed by his proximity.
"What?" she demanded, and he leaned closer.
"Shinichi, what are you doin—"
"A proposition of sorts," he grinned, "You can't sleep, I can't sleep, how about this?"
He dragged her to the sofa and pushed into it. Shiho was not able to react when he lay beside her, arms wrapping around her body. Squashed together, cramped into the tiny space—it was rather uncomfortable. The quiet settled, and apart from the ticking clock, the creaking floors or the soft snored of the professor—was the furious thudding of her racing heart. The blood rushed to her ears. It was too hot. He was too close, and—
"And this is your great idea?" Shiho quipped as he smiled slyly.
"If you hate it so much, why don't you leave?" he jest.
"I would if you would let me go," she snapped.
Shinichi released her.
"There, you're free to go."
She remained—still for a moment before she reached over, grasping his shirt.
"You wanted to leave?"
"Shut up," she whispered, and he laughed softly.
The night wore on. Her mind replayed snippets of a nightmare. Of silver-haired beast coming onto her. Internally tearing her apart. A phantom ache burned through scars etched into skin. Voices were whispering relentlessly in her ears—victims of her creation. Cold, dark corridors of a long-forgotten laboratory. In soundproof rooms, traitors are imprisoned, screaming, and begging for mercy. Gin forced the drug down their throats; she held a writing pad in one hand and a stopwatch in the other. From a distance, she observed calculations, experiments, and trials. Taking no action to stop them.
"Do you think you're innocent, Sherry?"
Renya's statement reminded her of who she was.
"Shinichi," she muttered, "Would this work? Would it finally be over?"
A bitter smirk surfaces as Shinichi tightens his hold.
"It will, besides," he grins, repeating words he had told her a few months ago on a rainy day. "I'm still here."
His warmth— his presence soothing the primal fear which had taken root.
Unable to look at him, she buried her face in his chest.
He had been working hard. In the past few days, he has engaged with the FBI, never resting, trying his best to figure out the web of lies painted by the organization. It was not as if she had not noticed his fear, his concern. The negotiation had scared him, and yet he continued. Wearing the same confident smile—that annoying, irritating—
Snores emanated from his lips. Having succumbed to fatigue, the shrunken detective slept. Shiho trailed a finger down his cheeks.
"Idiot," she whispered, sinking into his embrace.
A cold, miserable morning greeted them two weeks after the incident in Otaru. Gray clouds spread shadows across the land as rain pelted from above. As Akai appeared in his disguise, a summer storm raged. Spices of sweet curry waffled through the air as he carried a yellow steel pot. Subaru Okiya entered the professor's house, dripping from his light brown wig.
"Why the disguise?" Shiho asked. She handed him a towel as he peeled away the wig, drying the black hair underneath. The mask came off, and he reappeared as Akai Shuichi, displaying a solemn expression.
"It isn't safe," Akai began. Shinichi froze as his ominous words echoed down the hall. Like the clouds gathering in the sky above, the FBI agent's olive green eyes darkened.
"What happened?" Shinichi asked, not mincing his words as Akai pulled out a photo. Shinichi inspects the picture displayed on the countertop. A distanced shot, blurry. The image is likely from a CCTV camera, which would explain the poor pixel quality. There was nothing noteworthy about the photograph or the figure it contained. In it—was a man walking away from an accident. His face was hard to make out, but it was rather squarish, and he was tall, taller than most. He looked to be in his 40s or 50s, with thinning black hair and a distinct mustache.
Shinichi recognized the incident. There was a news report just a day ago about a madman shooting random people on the street.
"What about him?" he asked.
"Just north of here, there had been another shooting spree. Days apart but bearing similar characteristics. The deceased were all shot multiple times. Clumsily and haphazardly executed. They were innocent bystanders who just happened to cross his path. Another peculiarity is his clothes, " Akai pointed to the picture. The perpetrator donned a security guard's uniform over a bloody white shirt.
"Taken from the victims, themselves."
"And he hasn't been caught yet? If he was on a killing spree, wouldn't the Japanese Police be tracking him down?"
"That's the problem," Akai continued, "The photo was taken three days ago. He's missing. Nowhere to be found."
"How is he connected with the black organization?"
"Jodie said it was nothing, probably just a wannabe looking for attention, but I disagree," Akai clarified, turning to the shrunken teenagers. Shinichi could only swallow apprehension as Akai produced the report. Within it are pictures of the victims. Their lives ended violently by a madman.
"Exit wounds," Shiho traced over the damage. "From a semiautomatic pistol."
"There were four victims in total, extending the highway. He had traversed some neighborhood districts, but no murders had occurred there. The witnesses that caught wind of his travesties said he appeared disturbed."
"Disturbed?"
"Desperate is a better word to describe him," Akai hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. The man glanced at Shiho, pausing before continuing. "He was screaming about a blonde-headed demon that would kill him if he did not accomplish his goal."
Shiho froze at the news. Shinichi slams the table before glaring at the FBI agent in alarm.
"Wait, doesn't that mean—"
"They were eye-witness accounts, but this could not be confirmed. The man's killing spree was captured on recordings with no audio. Officers in charge were unable to hear the man's exact words," Akai cuts in, drumming the table as he pulled out a cigar.
"How did you obtain these details?"
"I have my ways," Akai replied as Shinichi inspected the files. All of the victims were males. Highway workers, security guards, and drivers. A gas station attendant was the first to die in Shinagawa, just north of Beika. A colleague discovered his body when they opened the shop.
The second happened at a train station. He was killed in Tomatsu, just a few miles from Shinagawa. The security guard was gunned down as he attempted to prevent the culprit from boarding a freight train. Attempts by witnesses to stop him were met with returning gunfire. They said the suspect was wearing a gas attendant uniform, basically what the first victim wore.
"He's traveling," Shinichi murmured. "Shiho, could you—"
As usual, the girl did not allow him to finish his sentence. Taking out the district maps of Tokyo, she presents it to them. Shinichi traced the route taken by the culprit.
"Nishikawa Port," Shinichi pulled back, deliberating on the consequences. The third victim was a logistics worker who encountered the culprit by chance. He was shot point blank. The perpetrator later boarded one of the vans while security chased him. An officer nicked him on the shoulder, and the man screamed the infamous words—of black crows, an organization, and the blonde-headed woman that threatened him.
"No," Shinichi studies the route, confirming Akai's suspicions.
"Yamaza District," Akai placed the unlit cigar on the table, "is only a few kilometers away from Beika-chou."
The fourth victim, a security guard manning a toll booth, was shot like the others. The man fled the scene on foot. Infiltrating the panicking crowd, he blended in—disguised as a security guard, only to be captured on the CCTV cameras.
"An objective," Shinichi murmured, "who is this man exactly?"
"I came here hoping you might know," Akai sighed. Clearly frustrated by the lack of progress. The image is too blurry to make out but contains one crucial clue.
A part of the culprit seemed familiar; he recognized the way he walked, his gait, and that terrified expression from somewhere else.
Shinichi couldn't recall. Again, the answers eluded him.
"There's no point in worrying about it," Akai assured as lightning flashed, leaving sinister shadows on the ground. "If we're right. This could be a move by the black organization, and we won't be caught off guard this time."
"It might be possible to determine his objective if we figure out his route," Shinichi stated, and Akai agreed.
"This is the only logical course of action. Now convincing the others that this might not be a false lead will be more challenging." Akai sighed. Shinichi chuckled dryly at his predicament. Sometimes, being a part of an agency with higher-ups had a noticeable impact on the speed of things. Discussions, responsibilities, and differences of opinion often lead to arguments lasting for days. Since ethics are usually governed by politics, enforcement is made difficult. To be honest, it was a slow and sometimes incompetent system.
"Especially since you got this information illegally," Shinichi quipped. The agent shrugged and lit the cigar. Smoke filled the air, and he gestured toward the pot of curry. "Where's the professor anyway? I made that for him. He's been complaining about too many take-outs lately."
"Really, Hakase did?" Shiho muttered. The girl was still staring at the CCTV image.
"I guess it can't be helped," Shinichi replied, "We're all busy. Besides, Hakase is at a secret convention right now."
"A secret?"
"Beats me, but Hakase meeting some author in some hotel—"
Grabbing the photo, Shiho gasped.
"Hotel," she whispered, "Haido City Hotel."
"Shiho?"
The girl grabbed the files he left on the counter, pouring over them frantically. Finally, she face them, lips parted with fear—apprehension.
"Shinichi," she murmured. "He knows."
"Knows?"
"Pisco."
Two years.
It had been two years.
The name brings back unpleasant memories. Of Shiho being shot on a snow-covered roof. Of desperation, as he ran—hoping to God that he would make it in time.
Pisco, Kenzo Masuyama. His eyes shifted back to the CCTV image. Of course! Why hasn't he noticed this before? His statue, height, hair, and even features were familiar. The man was a bit younger, but surely it couldn't be—
"Shinichi, Kenzo Masuyama is aware of our shrunken state," Shiho whispered.
"No," Shinichi stops her, "we do not know yet, and nothing has yet occurred. He is clearly running away. If anything, we need to confirm his identity."
"You know him?" Akai asked, raising his eyebrows at their interaction. He moves toward Shinichi, who holds out his phone, dialing the number in a hurry.
"Megure-san, Kudou here."
Having forgotten to turn on his voice changer, he greeted Inspector Megure as Edogawa Conan. Shinichi realizing too late.
"Kudou-kun?" the man asked, "Isn't this Conan-kun?"
"Yes, Megure-san," he replied, diverting the attention, "I am calling on behalf of Shinichi-nii-chan!" he exclaimed.
"Hmm…so what is it, Conan-kun? Why have you called?"
Shinichi breathes a sigh of relief, grateful for the Inspector's unassuming manner.
"It's about the Haido Hotel Case from two years ago," he explained.
"And...What about it?" Megure-san was confused by his request.
"Shinichi-nii-chan said that there was something he needed to check and wanted me to take a look at the files."
"Conan-kun, even if it's for Kudou-kun, that would be a little bit difficult," the inspector chided. "You are, firstly, and most importantly, a kid. And no matter the reason, children aren't allowed near the casefiles. Secondly, why is Kudou-kun asking a child to do his job? Tell him to come down if he needs it!"
Shinichi frowned. The excuses he was so good at inventing this time eluded him. Looking to Shiho for help, she folded her arms—it would seem that even the ad-libbing expert was at a loss.
It was Akai who took the call. The agent wasted no time in introducing himself. Shinichi watched in awe while the agent crafted half-truths to persuade Megure-san.
"It isn't Kudou-kun who requested it," he lied, "Pardon my rudeness, but this is Akai Shuichi. You might have read about me in the police reports on the Baihatsu cooperation case that occurred two months ago. I am an FBI agent, and it's paramount we inspect the Haido City hotel case."
"Wha…what?" Megure-san stuttered.
"It relates to a recent killing spree. I'll explain it to you when we reach the police headquarters, but the Haido City Hotel case reports take precedence now."
A long pause followed, Shinichi holding his breath. Then—
"I'll see what I can do. You may head to the station now, but I expect an explanation."
Inspector Megure relents to his request.
Akai ended with pleasantries, arranged the time, and looked at the shrunken teenagers when the call ended.
"Seems we have a date," he quipped.
"Yes," Shinichi said. "Let's hope," looking at Shiho, who remained motionless. "That we're wrong."
The ride to the police headquarters was quiet. It was raining heavily. The dreary skies did not help with the mounting pressure.
Disguised again as Okiya Subaru, Akai spun the wheel slowly as they splashed through slippery roads. Windscreen wipers created a steady rhythm, clicking like a clock, ready to implode at any moment. Shiho's mind wandered—back to the incident two years ago. Of an insidious grin from a silver-haired man, of a gun pointed directly at her as she accepted her fate. Of a man standing before a chimney—Pisco. Voice grating in her ear. Arid cigar smoke mixed with the metallic stench of blood.
"Oh, wonderful," he sneers in amazement. "You were still a baby, so you probably don't remember anymore," He elaborated on a past she will never experience. "But I was very close to your parents, who were scientists."
The man chuckled, squatting. "I was told much about the drug developments, but I had no idea you had taken it to such a point."
His voice carried a cruel weight. Mocking her as he pressed the pistol into her forehead.
"Your parents, who died in that accident, would be very happy."
Words that confirmed her parents' actions— she did not want to hear. The experiments were done—voluntarily.
"But this is an order—please don't blame me…Shiho-chan~"
And he was interrupted, Shinichi saving her as the fires cascade around them.
Whether it was luck or a curse, he was killed shortly after. Her secret—buried with him. The organization made sure that all of Kenzo Masuyama's family were destroyed.
"We're here," Akai said softly. He parked his vehicle beside the immaculate building. Ten stories in height, the Tokyo Metropolitan, emerged from the rain, revealing an array of police cars and vans rushing out from the entrance. A serious incident seems to have occurred nearby. The alarms, the noise, and the dire looks of the officers were disconcerting, and Shiho winced, feeling trepidation festering like a dying bug.
"You ok?" Shinichi interrupts.
"I'm fine," she said before he could even begin.
"Come on," he sighed. Grabbing her hand, Shinichi guided her through the rain-soaked streets to the foyer. "Don't worry," he reassured her as they approached the door, displaying his characteristic smile.
"We'll think of something as it unfolds."
She frowned at his blatant act.
He couldn't hide his anxiety, displayed in tightly pressed lips and creased brows.
Idiot.
"I know," she replied. Before he could move, she had tightened her grip around his hand. Taking the lead this time.
"Shiho?"
"Everything will be fine, right," Shiho said while he paused. "You're the big-headed detective, after all."
"I prefer great detective."
"You mean balding?"
"Evil-eyed yawny girl," he retorted. A glare was exchanged between them before he relaxed.
"Feeling better?" she smirked.
"There's nothing like a few insults to cure chronic anxiety, is there?" he answered. Shiho snorted as they greeted the receptionist.
Akai following behind grinned at their antics. The FBI agent pushes them into the elevators.
Upon exiting the lift, they were met with a mess. Papers flying about, documents being thrown over tables. Every few minutes, the analog telephone rings. Inspectors and detectives alike bustled haphazardly.
"It looks like we arrived at the wrong time."
As soon as the words left his lips, they were greeted by a highly flustered Inspector Megure. Apologetically, the middle-aged man hurried toward them. "I am sorry for not bringing you up, but there was a vehicle pileup involving a gunman a few miles away," he revealed. This would help explain the busy and frantic atmosphere at the moment.
"I will get the files, but you will have to wait—" he trailed off. Seeing Akai-san, his eyes narrowed. "Who are you? You are not the man described in Satou-san's reports," he stated. The disguise Akai wore was not welcomed. "I thought we would be meeting with an Akai-san, Conan-kun?"
"Pardon the misunderstanding," the agent peeled back the top of his wig, revealing black hair underneath. Stunned, the inspector stepped back. "If you are okay with it, I would be glad to elaborate on the situation to you in a private room."
Obviously confused, Megure-san gesticulated to a room by the side. "Wait there," the inspector eyed them suspiciously.
"Yes, Inspector Megure," Shinichi replied innocently. He left as they moved towards the conference room, seemingly satisfied. The room was cluttered with office chairs. Paper cups from previous meetings were strewn across the long table. A half-eaten sandwich lay on the table, and scribbles were written across the whiteboard. To the side, hanging from the ceiling, was a television covered in dust. The stench of sweat and cigar smoke lingered in its stale air. It, Shiho sighed, stank.
Shiho picked through the paper cups, about to clean them, but stopped when the door burst open. Inspector Satou stomped in with Takagi-san. The man holding the woman back. "Akai-san, is that you? What are you doing in here? Megure-san may have agreed to this arrangement, but why?"
Folding her arms, she glared at them critically. "And why are the children here? Don't tell me—"
Akai stripped off his disguise. "You're probably familiar with the Black Organization. About the entity that has been making headlines lately," he began. Eyes widening, the inspectors assessed the information.
"From what I gather, the report that Inspector Megure will share with us relates to that," he explained.
"But why the children?" Takagi asked skeptically.
"Because Shinichi-nii-chan was involved in it," Shinichi replied. Shiho was amused by the boy's ability to go relatively high-pitched when needed. It was almost as if he were singing an opera, like a soprano.
"Shinichi-nii-chan?"
"Kudou-kun," Megure-san enters with Inspector Shiratori.
"He was involved in that case," Megure-san continues, "and it was closed, the reason marked as a family suicide. But if what Akai-san says is true, then it may explain some of the peculiar circumstances surrounding the death of those people."
"Hmm..." Satou was still skeptical. "What has the Haido City Hotel case got to do with this black organization?"
"We don't know, but Kudou-kun said there were connections, and," Akai pulled out a CCTV image. The inspectors studied the photo.
"That's the culprit for the recent shootouts," Takagi-san muttered, glancing at Akai, who nodded.
"We suspect that this man is associated with the Black Organization."
Silence falls over the shocked Inspectors. Satou-san was the first to recover.
"So you're telling me that these random acts of violence are some sort of prelude to something bigger?"
"Yes," Shiho gazed at the case files Shitatori-san had brought in. Shinichi was flipping through the report, examining it. "That's how they operate. They would never betray their cause, even if they are found."
"What?" Takagi-san whispered. The inspectors looked at her in bewilderment. Shiho realized her mistake when Shinichi nudged her.
"Well, according to Shinichi-nii-chan, that is," she corrects, giving the detective a smirk as he frowned.
"Either way," Akai gestures to the reports, "we are looking for close family members of the Masuyamas, anybody who could have escaped the fire that destroyed them."
"That's impossible," Shiratori-san said, shaking his head. "The bodies clearly belonged to four people, and forensics had even verified their identities."
"Are you sure? Four?" Shinichi's lips pursed in doubt.
"Yes, look," Shiratori-san drew out the photo from the file. There were grotesque images of blackened bodies curled up in fetal positions. Evidently burned alive. There was not much left of them except— charred bones. Stained with soot, crushed, and carbonated in parts.
"Kenzo Masuyama was the culprit who killed that politician, wasn't he?" Takagi remembered, "After receiving Kudou-kun's call, Inspector Megure and I rushed down to his mansion, but it was already too late."
"It was burning down. The bodies were only found later. Kenzo Masuyama's family and the butler were killed in the horrific incident," Megure continued.
The man pointing to the photograph of Kenzo Masuyama sitting in a family portrait taken about five years earlier. It featured a beautiful, well-dressed woman about seventy years of age. She appeared happy, but her brown eyes were blank despite her friendly smile. He had two sons, one of whom was taller than the other. Their likeness to Pisco was uncanny. Shiho and Shinichi exchange glances as they look at the taller man. He was likely in his forties and smiling wryly. With crew-cut hair and black eyes, he grew a mustache like his father.
"There's no doubt," Shinichi compares the photo to the CCTV image. They were of the same persons. Dread gnawed at Shiho's insides. He was alive. Kenzo Masuyama's son was alive. Pisco, who had known her secret, understood how the drug worked. There is a good chance that his son knew of her circumstances. And now, he was running through the streets—his objective still unknown.
"Fumihito Masuyama," Shiratori announced. The Inspectors and Akai scrutinized the pictures. "The oldest son of Kenzo Masauyama, allegedly deceased. But how—"
"How could forensics have made such a mistake!" Megure-san snapped.
"You can't blame them," Shiho whispered. "Burnt bodies are often harder to identify, and the DNA extracted could have been severely damaged." The revelation left Shiho numb. "Likely, the member sent by the organization to kill the Masayumas might have erred." She said unconsciously.
"What are you trying to say?" Megure-san asked.
"It is possible that Fumihito Masuyama fought back," Shinichi continued her deduction, "and in the process, was able to kill the assassin sent by the black organization."
"What do you mean?" Shiratori asked, but Takagi, who was studying them closely, stopped him.
"He burned the house to make the organization think he was dead. It appears he managed to escape for some time but was captured again," Akai concluded. "This isn't a good sign."
"All right, enough," Satou-san glared down at them with her hands on her hips.
"I've been wanting to ask," she addressed Shiho and Shinichi. "But who exactly are you? "
They couldn't respond. The tension thickens. The threat loomed over. He was—
An alarm went off. High-pitch shrilling echoed through the station. Shiho winced as the Inspectors looked at the door that was flung open. A baby-faced deputy rushes in.
"You have to see this," the man reaches for the remote and turns on the television. They gasped at the scene unfolding. Shinichi instinctively reached for her as she recoiled from the sight.
"What is happening?!" Megure-san exclaimed.
"We do not know," the deputy muttered darkly. There was a face on the screen that they all recognized. A haggard-looking Fumihito Masuyama stood poised on the screen, having forced his way into the recording studio. He was still dressed in a security uniform and was holding a gun. Brandishing it, he pointed the pistol at the news reporter standing by his side. She screamed, and he struck her twice. The woman collapsed, and chaos ensued. Staff screaming in the enclosed room.
"Shut up!" he roared. His countenance conveyed a sinister threat. The sound of gunshots was followed by silence. The hostages he had rounded up were then gathered in the corner.
They mainly consisted of studio representatives and backstage hands of a well-known news station. The woman he had hit was Seiko Arai. Well-known for her reports on various controversial subjects during prime time.
Satisfied with the arrangement, he ordered two of the cameramen to lock the door. And the audience watched with mounting horror as the furniture was stacked against the only exit. They were trapped—the small room, his domain.
Carrying a mad glint, he threw plastic ties at the hostages. Once again, ordering the cameramen to bind them. A gunshot rang out when they refused. Screams erupted as one of the cameramen collapsed—dead.
"Do you think this is a joke!"
Clearly not playing games, Fumihito forced a shivering stage member barely twenty years of age to follow his orders. She then tied her colleagues with plastic ties. The young girl sobbing as she did so. Fumihito tied hers after she had completed the task.
After what seemed like an eternity, he sat next to the still-unconscious Seiko Arai. The woman slumped over the broadcasting table. Grasping his neck, he pulled his collar open.
"A bomb," Shinichi whispered.
"No," Shiho realized what the man was forced to do—a game, a ruse—and she clenched her fists as a tremor ran through her body.
"Are you satisfied?" Fumihoto shouted at the cameras, addressing no one in particular. He reloaded his gun as his hostages retreated once again. "Arrangements have been made, and you'll keep the deal! "
Stumbling, he grabbed the table. Shiho noticed his tired, unkempt appearance. Bloodshot eyes, pale lips, thin, almost weak disposition. Coughing violently, blood erupted from his lips as he wiped it away. Laughter erupts, but it is devoid of joy, bereft of hope. And he made his request. Black eyes glared at the screen. "Well, let's not beat around the bush anymore," he replied, "I'm sure the police are well aware of what is at stake."
"I have three conditions," he demanded, lifting his fingers as he counted down. "Firstly, if law enforcement decides to raid this studio, I will kill everyone present." It was not an empty threat; the cameraman's body was still visible on the ground.
"Why isn't anyone shutting down the broadcast?" Megure-san shouted at the deputy, who shook his head.
"We tried. The news station refused."
"Secondly," Fumihito displayed a crooked smirk.
"Satsuki Fujita," her pseudo name rang through, silencing the inspectors. "If you're hearing this, you're my second demand. You will meet me. If not," He raised the gun, and Shiho flinched as he fired. The other cameraman fell to the ground, and the hostages screamed uncontrollably. "Every hour, they die."
"What is this!" Takagi-san whispered in disbelief as Satou-san banged her fist against the table.
"Thirdly," is the ominous promise etched in his features, the mad glint conveying his desperation as he coughs violently again. A pair of beady eyes stared through the screen, plunging Shiho into the cold, watery depths of hell.
"The drug, Sherry."
Fumihito Masuyama was shrewd. Having chosen a basement studio, he had secured a space that was safe from police snipers. The only exit was blocked and locked, making it difficult to retrieve the hostages. There was no point in threatening him. He was ready to kill. No hesitation had been shown. The situation worsens by the ticking bomb around his neck.
"It's him, Shinichi," Shiho was cold, her eyes focused on the ground as her body shook slightly. "It's his game." Renya's last words echoed, Shinichi reeling from the developments. Something like this shouldn't have surprised him. He should have anticipated it—but this was cruel. Too horrific to even predict.
In essence, there were two hostages. The first was the staff members trapped with Fumihito Masuyama, held and bound. They were innocent collaterals. The second was Fumihito Masuyama himself, the bomb strapped to his neck a warning of what was to come if he failed his endeavor.
They wanted Sherry—and they were using Fumihito as bait. It was obvious what their plans were. Renya Karasuma was pulling the strings from behind shadows in this test, a game.
"Akai-san," Shinichi turned to the FBI agent, "We need a task force. We can't do this alone."
The FBI agent shook his head. "It'll be too late," he commented. Shinichi senses his anger at the helpless situation. "By the time a task force is gathered, the hostages would be dead." He was right. The other agents were on field missions. Moreover, gathering agents within such a short period was impossible. They were quite literally out of their league.
Shinichi studies the situation on the screen. It was a dire situation. He could only think of one thing— to rush in...alone, with the drug. But that would just be suicide, and Shiho—he couldn't place the scientist through that—ever again.
What can be done?
Shinichi's mind went into overdrive as his eyes landed on the four police inspectors shouting orders to prepare the teams to rescue the hostages. Mobilizing the specialized police force—wait a minute.
A smirk appeared on his lips.
"No," Shiho noticed it. The plan forming in his head is taking root. "No, Shinichi," she said firmly. "It's too dangerous. If their identities are discovered, they'll be targetted."
"There's no other option, Shiho."
"What are you planning, boy?" Akai was puzzled by their argument.
"I'll go," she replied. "There's no need for this ruse. It's me they want. You can't—"
"There's a way," Shinichi interrupts. Her lips quivering, she gets more agitated at his insistence. "We have no choice but to do it."
"They will die," she snapped, startling the inspectors who were now paying close attention to their conversation. Glaring daggers at him, she was adamant. The girl wanted to go alone—again.
This stubborn idiot.
"Don't you see Kudou," she spat, "This is what they do! Anyone who gets in their way will be killed. There is no mercy. If you insist on this plan of yours, they will die."
Shinichi knows it for a fact. Renya Karasuma, the evil entity behind this organization, was ruthless. An entity to be reckoned with. He was no longer playing around. The revelation of their existence had not slowed their activities. They still worked in the shadows, causing chaos and pain wherever they went.
"Enough," Shinichi stops Shiho. "This has got to end." Green eyes meeting his. A hesitant smile appeared on his lips. "Shiho, we can't run away from this. We won't play by their rules anymore."
"Besides," he added, "I've got a plan."
Defeated, she remained still—regarding his words. Eventually, she gave in.
"And what is this plan of yours?" Shiho sighed.
"Is something wrong?" Takagi and Satou-san approached as Megure-san and Shiratori observed them with curiosity.
There had to be an end to this at some point. Though Shinichi preferred to do it under better circumstances, it seemed he had no choice. They needed help, and the inspectors needed to know. They couldn't continue this tirade any longer.
"You asked me, didn't you?" he said with a wry smirk. "About who I was. About what we are."
Shinichi faced the Inspectors as he gathered his courage.
"A detective," Shinichi replied, and they gasped. "Kudou Shinichi, at your service."
Episodes used:
178- Pisco, the poor poor sod.
Again, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thank you for your kind reviews, see you in the next one :)