Chapter 59
Ice
"How is she?" Akai asked. Running his hand through his messy black hair, the man leaned against the kitchen counter. He stank of sweat, coffee, and cigar smoke. Heavy leaden eyes reveal eyebags. Shinichi handed the man another cup of coffee, suppressing a yawn. It was past midnight. There was silence in the living room, aside from the professor's soft snoring. The FBI agent and shrunken detective speak softly to not wake the sleeping occupant.
"Same as usual," Shinichi sips from his cup, swallowing the bitterness, fuming a little at the situation. There was a weight in his pocket—a result of a quarrel Shinichi had with a scientist three days ago. A stinging ache ran through his body as he slumped against the countertop, the locket nestled deep.
"Give her time," Akai whispered, his olive-green eyes lingering on the stairwell to the basement. A faint blue glow emanated from it. Shinichi could hear the tinkering of flasks and Bunsen burners. Locking herself in the basement, the shrunken scientist has not rested since returning from Hiroshima a week ago.
It had rained on their way back. Starting with a torrential storm, heavy raindrops struck the glass panels of the old police station, creating a tumult of sounds. The noise distracted them from the incident that had just occurred. The local police questioned them about the fires that started in Nakano's mansion. Satou-san goes into detail about Ichika Takeuchi-san's supposed suicide. While fires scorched her body, Shinichi could still recall her death—mouth agape, body curled into a fetal position. It was a painful end.
When the mansion collapsed from the blaze, firefighting vehicles arrived in time to stop its spread. However, the damage done was irreversible, and rumors of a cursed house once again spread throughout the Shotengai district. He caught whispers. Gossip was freely exchanged, the fire loosening their tongues—revealing the true extent of the incident 17 years ago.
"His back," the locals murmured, their ominous words spreading like wildfire.
"Who?" Heiji asked a policeman at the station where they were held. It was a small box-like building located near the shopping district. A dull white light that hasn't been cleaned for a long time flickers as insects fly around it, casting shadows on gray-washed walls and cement floors. It was musty and dim, with cardboard and old newspaper stacked along the sides.
A middle-aged officer hesitates before sharing. The words spill, muting out all other sounds—confirming the story they had heard from Masako Fumie.
Once again, the Nakano family, benefactors, and the curse of the shopping district were the talk of town. Rumors were spread with terror and horror.
It was—shared trauma.
Eventually, after being questioned for several hours, Satou-san emerges exhausted. A bandage wrapped around her injured arm.
"We should head back," Satou-san advised, and they agreed. The incidents that had taken place were serious, and staying in Hiroshima any longer would be risky.
"Can you drive, Satou-san?" Heiji asked.
"It hurts a little, but it should be fine," the woman nodded before looking to an auburn-haired girl.
Shiho was seated by the benches, fingers tightening around the blonde-haired bundle retrieved from the burning mansion.
"Shiho?"
"Is there something wrong?" Heiji studies the girl shrouded in shadows.
Her last words to him were haunting. Shinichi remembered the venom that laced them. Slowly, Shiho stood. His breath hitched at the sight. Eyes blank, a mask—wearing an expression that bore nothing.
"Shiho-chan," Sera appeared behind, passing them umbrellas she got from the receptionist, "You can share this with me. Let's go," she grabbed the girl gently by the shoulders.
"Don't touch me," Shiho shoved her back. Her curt tone—chilled Shinichi to the bone.
"Hey," he approached her, but Heiji seized him, shaking his head.
"Ai-chan, are you alright?" Satou-san asked carefully.
Shiho leaves the station without answering, entering rain-soaked parking lots. Then she climbed into Satou-san's Mazda, shutting the door behind her.
"Kudou," Heiji suggested. "Give her space."
Shinichi's anxiety grew.
"What is her deal?" Sera murmured uneasily.
"We should go," Satou-san moved them along quietly, opening their umbrellas. When Shinichi entered the vehicle, he sat beside the girl, who remained unresponsive.
Her clothes were soaked through. She didn't bother wiping away the dripping droplets from her bangs. Reaching out, Shinichi curled his fingers around hers. As expected, they felt like blocks of ice. Shiho did not react, staring out of the windows as Satou-san continued to drive. "It'll be okay," he whispered, his eyes lingering over the blonde bundle she was holding.
Darkness enveloped them as Satou-san drove through a tunnel.
Passing orange headlights reflected her features briefly. Shinichi's grip tightened, his fingers white with strain, as a crooked smirk breaks out on her lips.
Cold. Icy. Glaciers, unyielding—hatred—
Sherry.
The auburn-haired scientist descends into a rage-fuelled trance that nobody can pull her from.
In a transparent flask, the liquid bubbled furiously. While working silently in the dark, Shiho glanced at blue-screened monitors, clipboard in hand, observing the progress. Colorless formulas smelt of detergent and were dyed blue. It was hard to imagine how such a liquid could shrink or kill someone. However, Shiho knew better—medicines were, most often than not, first—poisons.
"A little over 5 minutes, subject unable to solidify," she whispered into a device. Past notes and recordings of her experiments, listed in order, are lined systematically on the shelves. While her experiment continues, Shiho places the clipboard down before lowering the flames of the Bunsen burner.
Taking off her gloves, she sat despondently on the sofa, listening to the soft whirr of the overheated computer. The room stung of burnt smoke. Her gaze wandered lazily, attention falling on a shattered green mug. It was placed next to the experiment. Shiho didn't have the heart to throw it away. The mug—a first gift from the professor. Memories of what happened three days ago begin to surface. Regret took over, and for a moment, it threatened to break her focus. "That's not the answer, Shiho," Azure blue eyes met hers with worry etched in his features. In desperation, his lips twisted. Knuckles, swollen from pounding a locked door.
Something in her was broken. She realized it as soon as she saw Takeuchi-san's writhing body. The housekeeper was burnt to a crisp, her mouth twisted, crooked, and agape in agony, and all Shiho felt was—
"We aren't that different, Sherry."
Shiho shuts her eyes, lips forming a twisted smile. Regret changes to indifference. Tossing the fractured pieces of the green mug into the bin, her resolve deepens.
It was cracked anyway.
A week has passed since Hiroshima. The trip back was a quiet one. The sound of wheels sloshing across puddled roads is muffled by heavy rain. A river forms on car windows, drowning out memories of fires left behind. Clinging to the bundle of hair, fragmented images of crying mothers and dead fathers repeated in her mind.
Vodka. Rum, Vermouth…Gin. A photograph of two young boys standing together, side by side. With giant grins stretched across the faces—monsters.
After that, she locked herself in the professor's basement, and working on the antidote became an excuse. It was easier to lie than to confront the boiling anger that threatened to implode.
Kill.
Murderous, hot. The dragon that had festered beneath the surface emerges, evolving into a monstrosity that Shiho could not stop. Dead sisters, parents—Ryuu-san. She will avenge them all.
They did not have the right to live.
Takeuchi Ichika, alias the goat, a member of Rum's secret organization—deserved it.
The knocks came three days later. Shinichi banged against the doors, having had enough. The children were in the living room, he mentioned. They wanted to meet her—probably an intervention. It was always like this.
"Shiho," he pounded on the doors again.
It didn't matter. Nothing did. The homicidal sentiments never faded. So, Shiho turned back to the experiment, working on the drug. But he would never leave her alone. In the end, Shiho was greeted with the furious gaze of a shrunken detective when he forced open the locked door. A mess of hair, his spectacles glinting in the darkened room, in his hands—lockpicks, he marched over.
"Shiho, what is it!" he snapped.
Shiho ignored him, returning to the bubbling specimen while holding the green mug filled with hot tea.
"Shiho!"
"I'm working on the antidote, Kudou," she answered dismissively, gesturing to her appliance, "We need it for the operation, don't we?"
For a second, he stared at her with lips parted. Running his fingers through his hair, Shinichi, like the bubbling antidote, was boiling with frustration. "I was told to give you time," he started slowly, holding back. "But it's been three days. This isn't healthy."
"I've done longer, Kudou," she snorted, "It's not like this…is any different."
"Don't do this," he whispered, almost pleading, "Talk to me."
He edged closer. "We promised, didn't we?"
"Come on," Shinichi takes her hands, giving a hesitant smile, "The children are here. Ran is preparing dinner, and you need to stop Hakase from overeating. It'll be fun."
The gentleness of his words, his touch, a warmth, his eyes—not soothing the scorching ache within her chest.
"Let me go."
Shinichi stopped.
"If it's about what you said..." he glared at her.
She notices the disapproval in his gaze. And she faced the ground. It was wrong, but—
"I stand by it," Shiho seethes. Even the heavy rains of that night were unable to quell the rage. "The next time our paths cross," she declared, "I'll kill them."
For a moment, Shinichi was silent, then he reached out, wanting to embrace her. But she pushed him away, and they stood apart. The hurt he expressed—was difficult to bear.
"Shiho," he was resolute in his beliefs, "This would get you nowhere."
"You wouldn't understand."
"And what don't I comprehend?" Shinichi snapped, irritation growing into anger. "Murder, Shiho, whatever the cause, is wrong!"
"It wouldn't make a difference, would it," she whispered harshly.
"That wasn't my intention," He falters, stepping back.
"I've always wondered," she cuts through, fingers tightening painfully over the mug. "How it must feel to live," she chuckled dryly, "so righteously."
"Shiho."
"I am the same, Kudou," she whispered, "I was…taught that way."
"It is still wrong," Shinichi takes hold of her hands, squeezing them. "Your parents. Akemi, they wouldn't have wanted this for you."
She stiffens, slapping his hands away. The mug she held fell to the ground, cracking and spilling hot tea. Shinichi regards her with shock.
"What do you know?" She spat, unable to restrain herself. "Do the dead speak! Your parents are with you! How can you possibly understand? How can you stand there and tell me what is right and wrong? Tell me," poison bursting forth, as she clutches her chest, "Kudou Shinichi!"
Tears threatened to spill, but she controls them. Shinichi draws back—speechless. His gaze lingered over the cracked mug.
"I understand," Shinichi whispered, his voice quivering slightly. "It doesn't matter if you listen or not. But Shiho, what you're planning," he asserts, "would make you no better than them."
His words sting, and she turns away from him.
"Leave," she whispered. The shadows around them deepened. A rift had formed between them.
"Shiho," Shinichi tried, as she inhaled sharply, a crooked grin formed on her lips. "I'm—"
Reaching for her neck, Shiho dislodges the locket hanging from it. She shoves it into his chest. The detective held it, staring at her in disbelief.
"Leave," she continued.
Shinichi grasps the locket. "Why!" he snapped. Anger laced Shinichi's words. "Aren't we past this? Don't you trust me!"
He was about to grab her again when the professor entered.
"What are you guys doing? Ran and the children are waiting for—"
With wide eyes, the old man studied them. His gaze was drawn first to the locket in Shinichi's hands and then to the mug on the ground. Then the professor bends over to pick up the mug he gave her and tentatively places it on the table. He seemed to want to say something, but he stopped. Instead, the professor grabs Shinichi by the shoulder, coaxing him out.
As they exit the basement, the professor stops by the doorway.
"Ai-kun," he started, "No matter what," giving her a wry smile, "This is, and will always be your home."
As he shuts the door softly, Shiho grimaced, still reeling from what she had said. The guilt, weighing down, left a sour taste in her mouth. For a moment, regret and shame swept over. Her resolve wavered, and she wanted to apologize, wanted them—to stay.
Yet, there it was, looming ominously on the table, next to a broken mug. The bundle. Strawberry blonde. "It…" Jodie-sensei said hesitantly. A sample is taken and sent to a lab for testing. Later, the results confirmed its origins. "It belonged to Miyano Elena."
Again, the apathy arose—mixed with the fiery, burning ache of rage. Laughing bitterly, she sank to the ground. "Enough."
Holding her hands over her eyes and pressing them down, she blots out the pain.
"No more, Rum."
"About the Takizaki family," Jodie-sensei began. Sipping her coffee slowly, the FBI agent looked at the documents before her. The house was surprisingly quiet. Ran, who had become a permanent visitor, was out shopping for groceries with the professor, and Akai was out on a mission.
"How are the interrogations going?" Shinichi rubs his tired eyes as he yawns. Slapping him on the back, Jodie-sensei looks at him with disgust. "Kudou-kun, have you ever taken a bath?" she asked, changing the topic when she studied his haggard appearance. He gave a dry chuckle as she folded her arms.
"I won't nag, but personal hygiene is important," Jodie-sensei chided. The nags were familiar. Ran, too, had been hounding him for the past week without success. Concern from his childhood friend and the professor washed over him like a haze. Shinichi knew the reason, but he refused to dwell on it. A constant ache worms its way through his body. Nights sometimes spent standing quietly outside the basement, not yielding the results he wanted.
Shinichi had always known what to say and what to do. However, for the first time in his life, he found himself at a loss. Unsure of the actions to take, he focused on work instead—a welcome respite from the locket still in his pocket.
"Has Junichiro Takizaki talked?" Shinichi ignores the agent's nags and brings the discussion back on track. Jodie-sensei sighed and glanced at the armored vehicles parked in the professor's front yard. Agents from the FBI mingled with PSB officers, some loitering in the living room, others patrolling outside. They were professional guards hand-picked by Akai to protect them. Even though Shinichi doubted their efficacy, he appreciated their services regardless.
"Yes," Jodie-sensei confirmed as she drank from her mug again. Her gaze hardened, lingering over the stairwell leading down to the basement before she sighed. "Junichiro talked about his father," she elaborated.
"Satoru Takizaki?" Shinichi pulls out a case file he had examined. The old man's face was plastered at the top. His information, date of birth, and life accounts are all written in a single report. Shinichi glanced over, his eyes resting on a single word. Akai had scribbled it down, and a slow smirk emerged from his lips. "Let me guess, there was a deal," he asked.
"It wasn't exactly a deal," Jodie-sensei replied tentatively.
"What do you mean?"
"We interrogated Satoru," she smiled without humor, "After our little talk with Junichiro. He was not amused, but Satoru was tired…and after a little sweet talk, was cooperative."
Shinichi snorted, knowing of Satoru Takizaki's consuming greed. Until the very end, what was more important to Satoru was not his family—or life, but his prestige and wealth.
The FBI was to stop all mentions of his family in the media or the country. The Takizaki's wealth will also not be touched, and their family's reputation was not to be tarnished further. That was a deal the FBI had to make with Satoru Takizaki. It was a small price to pay for the information he possessed. A key to unlock everything—an origin point.
Sunset Mansion.
"While hands shook in the backroom of the supposed auctions," Jodie-sensei revealed secrets of a mansion that had been buried for fifty years. "Soma Karasuma and Aberu Nakano planned the sick game that would form the backbone of the black organization. "Satoru Takizaki was a survivor of the ritual…" Jodie-sensei grew solemn. "Koduku."
"Koduku," Shinichi murmured. He was aware of it. It is an ancient ritual based on black magic. Insane, illogical, but borne out of horrific circumstances. The practice typically involved insects, snakes, and other small critters forced into a pot to compete for survival. It is a ruthless method to select the "fittest" from all the candidates. The survivor of such a ritual would then be used to perpetuate the desires and wishes of its master.
"It was an old family tradition of the Karasuma family. They had eradicated the evil practice, but Soma Karasuma, seeking loyal partners for his organization, brought it back. There was great care taken in choosing the participants. Their families, who were once prestigious, were now losing status and wealth. Thus, when invited, many attended the auction, hoping to improve their standing by forming relations with the Karasumas. They were unaware that they were being enticed into a death game. At first, the auction started normally, but halfway through, Soma Karasuma clarified its true purpose. With the prize being a seat beside the Karasuma family and immense wealth, the participants were pitted against each other. There was no choice. The other option was death."
As Shinichi listened to Satoru's account, he grimaced. Even though he had deduced it, having it confirmed was still disturbing.
"According to him, the Sunset Mansion was remodeled for the ritual. In addition to traps with swinging blades, there were rooms filled with poison gas," Jodie-sensei elaborates on Satoru's recount. "He was not the candidate they expected to live, but was cunning and had managed to survive the traps and murder gambits. In the end, Satoru Takizaki caught the attention of the Nakano heir. Soma Karasuma, though, was not enthusiastic about Satoru joining his organization, but Aberu Nakano had other plans."
Sunset Mansion. A ritualistic massacre from 40 years ago. The Takizakis' unnatural loyalty and fear. Shinichi sifts through the table of documents, picking up the file Mary Sera gave him a month ago. The woman and Sera Masumi describe a 17-year-old case Tsutomu Akai worked on.
"They called themselves Children of Ashiko," Mary Sera delved, revealing the cause of her husband's disappearance. "Tsutomu told me about the mysterious murders of political leaders. The death of our good friend, Amanda Hugues, prompted him to look into it. In his investigation, he discovered a commonality between their deaths. Before they were killed, certain reclusive individuals had visited and threatened them several times. Later, Tsutomu discovers they were members of the cult."
To put it mildly, it was unexpected. Shinichi remembered encountering the name of the cult once. It was during the Isonade case involving one of the victims, Hinata Suzuki. After losing his mother, the man experimented with various cults before becoming a victim of Mihei Mika, posing as Isonade. One of the cults being—
"Children of Ashiko worshiped a goddess that preached death, destruction, and rebirth," Shinichi recalled his research on that case.
The answers had been so close. Even Shinichi hadn't suspected it.
"I see you've heard of them," the shrunken M16 agent responded, impressed.
Opening the file, she showed Shinichi blurry photographs, probably taken under duress, of people removing animal masks, attending a ceremony. Some of these people were familiar to Shinichi. Politicians and businessmen who still hold power today. They stood among the other members, who seemed less important, perhaps average citizens who had been recruited. On a podium stood a statue of what Shinichi could only guess was a grotesque amalgamation of animals and a woman.
The statue had elephant horns and decapitated limbs sticking out of her body, along with ears that reached to her shoulders, suggesting that she was possibly a representation of the cult's fixation.
"Amanozako," Mary Sera explained, not giving Shinichi a chance to process the new information, "a monstrous goddess, a trickster that drove even the most powerful mad. She is their patron saint and revered."
Taking in a deep breath, Mary's gaze hardened.
"Infiltrating their hideout, Tsutomu discovered some of their leaders' identities after much difficulty. As far as I know, this is his last investigation. Since then, we have not heard from him."
"Then how did these photos come into your possession?" Shinichi had asked, and the woman simply smirked, pointing to the file. On its cover was a distinct drawing of a top hat.
"The Kaitou Kid…" Shinichi muttered, stunned.
But this was 17 years ago. There was no way—
He frowned.
There seemed to be more to Tsutomu's disappearance than meets the eye. A link that cannot be disputed.
Examining Tsutomu's photographs, Shinichi focuses on the cult's leaders. Blurry photos displayed sick individuals standing behind the goddess in the shadows. Satoru Takizaki and Rum.
"So…Rum adopted the Takizaki family under his wing, against Soma Karasuma's wishes, and Satoru pledged his allegiance to the one-eyed beast," Shinichi deduced.
"Yes," Jodie-sensei elaborated. "Soma Karasuma did not pay much attention to him, but Rum made full use of him," Jodie-sensei points to his pictures. "After proving himself, Satoru was assigned a sub-organization to run separate tasks. Covert missions that even Soma Karasuma wasn't aware of."
"And this sub-organization was…"
"The cult," Jodie confirmed.
Children of Ashiko were very discreet and, despite being featured on some news sites—were mostly ignored. Some skeptics believed they were part of something larger and posted homemade documentaries on video-sharing platforms. However, the rumors have never gained traction and were labeled as urban legends, mocked, and dismissed.
Treated as a joke by the general public, the cult had been an excellent disguise for the Takizakis to do Rum's bidding and a way for them to recruit new members. They gathered those at risk with the promise of a better future and formed an easy-to-control community that perpetuated many unsolved crimes. From burglary, human trafficking, money laundering, and murder, they were extensive and, without a doubt—committed to his goal.
Shinichi formed the answers in his mind as his lips parted—the puzzle and mystery were coming together. Information extracted from Hiroshima hinted at his origin story—his purpose. Shinichi could see the cruel smirk of the monster—born from the flames of an atomic bomb. Of brothers, a drug, a partnership struck within the bowels of hell itself.
He was—
"Jodie!" a voice startles them. Together with Jodie-sensei, the guards around the house drew their guns at the intruder who had burst through the main door. They were surprised to see Akai standing in the foyer. His usual calmness was missing, replaced by a frantic look. Akai's agitated tone chills Shinichi to the bone, and he stands from his seat, looking at the agent with weary eyes.
"What happened?" Jodie-sensei lowers her gun. Rei Furuya and the bodyguards stationed around the professor's house appeared behind Akai. An unsettling message was conveyed in their eyes.
The fact that Akai and Rei Furuya were here at the same time wasn't a good sign. The two men were not inclined to work together and were always on different missions.
"An attempt has been made," Akai announced, looking to Rei, who held up a screen, showing the smoking rubble of a corridor buried deep below a high-security prison hidden in an obscure Japanese forest. Jodie-sensei gasped as Shinichi's grip tightened over the file he held.
They couldn't have!
Shinichi swallowed fear. "Did he escape?"
A tense silence descends over the room. Both FBI agents and PSB officers do not want to hear the answer.
"No," Rei replied, setting the screen on the kitchen counter as a live feed played.
"The perpetrator infiltrated the base and descended to the lower levels. The monitoring systems were hacked, and during that time, the attack happened. Fortunately, no one was killed."
"Of course. We informed the guards as soon as we realized he was—" a PSB officer beside Rei spoke carelessly, but Akai silenced him. The FBI agent eyed the ignorant officer with a dangerous glint. Rei pressed a finger to the officer's lips. Realizing his blunder, he fell silent.
"What did they do?" Jodie-san interrupts, glaring at the officer, who flinches.
"He posed as a guard," Rei scrolled through another CCTV feed, "and slipped in like a shadow. Nobody noticed him."
Shinichi flinched at the next scene. Of an old custodian, Jodie-sensei gasped, sharing a look at Akai, who shook his head in response. They seem to know the man. Although he had been badly beaten, he was alive.
"He took the keys for the elevator," Akai deduced.
"He used it," Rei nodded, "To enter the lifts, and there—"
Rei swipes the screen of a tablet to reveal the carnage. In some sort of explosion, concrete slabs were dislodged and destroyed, blocking the entrance to Gin's cell. Frantic officers dug through the wreckage, sifting through the rubble to get to the silver-haired beast hidden behind the heavy debris.
Despite the severity of the destruction, Gin's cell was purposefully left untouched. Observing him through the CCTV cameras installed in his cell, they see the silver-haired beast seated calmly by his bed, his feet still chained to the steel pipes.
"What is his purpose? Why didn't he free Gin?" Jodie-sensei addressed the elephant in the room.
"Is he mocking us?" another FBI agent asked. The officers gathered around them, looking at the live feed in anger. "This game they play, is he telling us he can attack us any time he chooses?"
"Most probably," Rei confirms darkly.
"He's showing us what he is capable of," Akai continued. Having worked with the monster before, both men were unnerved by his actions.
"Which is why," Rei continued, "It's imperative we increase security right now."
"You heard him," Akai ordered his men, who sprang into action.
"Wait!" Jodie-sensei exclaimed, staring at Gin in the live feed. The silver-haired beast stares lazily at the CCTV camera. Shinichi did not like it.
"Is that a satellite phone?" Jodie-sensei points to the device in Gin's grasp. The man making a call. He smirks slowly. His golden eyes carry a sinister glint.
Rei immediately pulls out a walkie-talkie. "Kuroda-san!" he informs, looking wide-eyed at the live feed, "Gin has a satellite phone. We need to stop the transmissions!"
As the PSB agent made the arrangements, Akai and Shinichi examined the live feed.
"Who is he contacting?" Akai whispered. FBI agent and detective realize in unison. They grabbed the tablet and rushed down the stairwell toward the basement. With uncanny strength, Akai burst through the locked doors.
The room was dark as usual. There is a blueish-green light emanating from a whirling computer. On the table, liquids are bubbling on a Bunsen burner. In the corner of the room stood a scientist holding a pink phone to her ear.
Her attention was drawn to the tablet Akai held—glaring at the live feed of a silver beast mocking them from his cell.
Anger blazed forth, and she spoke.
"Gin."
"Sherry," he called her by the cursed moniker, static coming through. As he spoke, she could hear the faint frantic shouts of officers in the background. The casual greeting brought her blood to a boil.
It was something Shiho hadn't anticipated. An unknown number rings from a vibrating phone. There had been an influx of spam calls, and she picked it up without thinking. As he spoke, his restrained fury was accompanied by an ominous timbre. Quiet, brimming, always ready to implode. Shiho would recognize his voice anywhere.
"How are you?" he taunts as the locked doors to her basement burst open. Her suspicions are confirmed by Shinichi's and Akai's frantic expressions.
"Gin," she spat, "What do you want?"
"Not beating about the bush, aren't we?" he sneers. "I've taught you well."
Shiho turns to the FBI agent and detective, who was shaking his head and instructing her to end the call. She disregards them, warning them not to touch her.
They stopped, the live feed playing on the screen Akai carried, still visible.
Gin had called her personal number. It was a game, a threat, an intimidation tactic.
She had enough.
"Again, I ask," she kept her tone in check, "What do you want?"
Laughing, the beast threw his head back, hitting the wall behind him.
"You, Sherry," he affirms darkly. "I want you."
Insidious menace replaces the playful tone. Gin's voice echoed through the cacophony of officers trying to get into his cell.
"Sherry," he continues, "A storm is brewing. The agencies you stand behind would not be able to protect you. Are you prepared to lose it all?"
Sitting comfortably on his bed, the man taunts her. His wide odious smirk was visible in the live feed. They were mocking them—this was child's play, they conveyed. They were capable of much worse. Their actions—the hurt they caused, the lives lost—nothing mattered.
A bitter laugh escapes her lips. She couldn't stop. "Is this a joke?" she asked, "After everything you've done, you expect me to come waltzing back?"
Again, she laughed, and the silver-haired beast's wicked grin vanished.
"Furuya Rei," Gin started, the man staring unnervingly into the cameras, "Akai Shuichi, Jodie Starling, Miwako Satou, Wataru Takagi, Shiratori Ninzaburo, Juzo Megure," names which he could not have known—spilling from his lips, "Sumiko Kobayashi, Hondou Eisuke, Suzuki Sonoko, Hattori Heiji, Masumi Sera, Kudou Yusaku, Kudou Yukiko, Kojima Genta, Tsuburaya Mitsuhiko, Yoshida Ayumi."
Taking a sharp breath, Shiho tightens her grip on the device.
"Shiho, what is he saying?" Shinichi demanded harshly, but she could not hear him.
"Mouri Ran," his words fell like an anchor, sinking into the depths. "Agase Hiroshi."
A slow smirk formed on Gin's lips, golden serpentine eyes peering through the live feed.
"Kudou Shinichi."
"Is that supposed to be a threat?" she whispered.
"I don't know," Gin chuckles, "But…a choice has to be made. Am I right, Shiho?"
It erupted, bursting forth and roaring like an unhinged beast—the hatred she carried solidifying into molten rock. The swirling fear and rage turned into ice, and all she saw was crimson.
"I have," she declares harshly, "It doesn't matter how long it'll take, Gin. I will end you. Every. Last. One. Of you."
"See," Gin whispered. His smirk grew exponentially. His excitement was barely controlled. "You aren't that different."
As the PSB officers burst into his cell with guns drawn, Gin raised his arms in mock surrender. Laughing mirthlessly as they screamed at him, demanding that he put down the device. When he failed to comply, he was pinned down. The satellite phone was snatched away, and the line was cut. Guns were pressed against his temper. As the officers scrambled to control the situation, Gin looks into the CCTV one last time, mouthing his last words.
"You belong to me, Sherry."
The feed was cut, and Shiho slams her phone on the ground. It bounced, echoing into the deep abyss.
"Shiho! Why did you engage?" Akai snapped as he picked the device from the ground. "I told you to—"
She glares at them. Their angry gazes mellowed into worry and concern. Gin's words reverberate in her head. Names—of people she cared for.
No.
"Don't you have a situation to deal with?" she interjects. The FBI agent paused mid-sentence. Shiho gestured to the phone he was holding. "They probably hacked into it. The people in my contact list need protection. Gin knows who they are."
"Shiho, that's—" Shinichi started, but she stopped him.
"Kudou, we don't have time," she snapped. He fell silent. Akai looked at them for a moment before sighing.
"We need to plan a defense, boy. Inform the inspectors we need their assistance."
Shinichi unclenched his fist and then nodded. Wavering blue eyes linger on her briefly before he leaves with Akai. Shiho returns to her experiment, watching the bubbling liquid. A Bunsen burner burns bright, red, and blue flames dance in the basement's shadows.
Cruel laughter, fires raging, Akemi's body strewn on rain-soaked ground—a bullet to her gut. Burnt to a crisp, tied to a pole, her parents, abused and killed, were buried in an unmarked grave. A twisted neck of a gentle giant—blank green eyes staring, unable to do anything, as a silver-haired beast straddles her forcefully in a foreign basement.
The noose tightens, pulling taut.
Gin stands over her.
"Choose."
Ripping off her lab coat, Shiho reaches for a locked drawer. She unlocks it with the key in her pocket while studying the contents coldly. It contained a stolen police pistol and a classified protected file.
The report indicates a private hospital, an hour's ride away—kept secret, hosting—
Vermouth.
Destination set, Shiho sets her sights on the pistol.
She picks it up, blue hues from a computer casting it with an eerie glow. The weapon felt familiar in her hands. Its weight—a painful reminder.
She was—Sherry.
With fingers curling around the trigger, an ugly smirk surface.
Ok. Things have to get worse before it gets better. Please don't kill me.
Again, thanks for reading. I appreciate the reviews and feedback. Have a nice week ahead.
P.S. I have planned this since the Isonade arc XD I don't know if its expressed nicely.