A Dark Fantasy Spy

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Many people overlook the fact that pistols have more recoil than expected.

This is because they have a short center of gravity and are lightweight.

However, for a skilled shooter, such things don’t matter.

-—!

With the gunfire, the slide was pulled back. The ejected shell casings flew up, rolling on the floor, and a new bullet, pushed upward by the spring’s force, was pushed into the chamber, engaging with the extractor.

I aimed at the furthest terrorist in the group and pulled the trigger.

-—! —!

The terrorist who took the bullet to the face collapsed in place. It wasn’t as dramatic as an action scene from a movie. It was just like watching a person fall down like a deflated balloon.

I fired at the clustered terrorists. A few were instantly killed by the gunfire, while the survivors scattered like insects.

Hiding behind a concrete pillar, I drew the revolver I had stashed in my jacket’s holster.

Just a moment to catch my breath.

I took a short breath and peeked around.

“….”

Purple and yellow, with a hint of red.

Not far away, Camila, who had managed to escape, was waving her hands at me.

Success.

—

Episode 8 – Say Hello To My Little Friend

The stench of blood and alcohol filled the mire. The acrid smell of gunpowder faintly wafted through the heavy scent of smoke. Amid the screams of the patient lying next to me, gunshots echoed from far away.

Camila leaned against the wall and took a deep breath.

The various odors that had gripped her nose faded away, and the gunshots and screams, which had been ringing in her ears, gradually softened.

“Wow… it feels like I’m back from the dead…”

Just moments after nearly dying, Camila leaned against the department store hallway, gasping for breath.

“Is everyone okay?”

“No…”

Francesca, unusually pale, forgot about the sword she was holding and replied as she placed her hand against the wall. The alchemist furrowed her delicate brow, and a sharp expression filled her eyes.

“The gunshots are really loud, aren’t they…? How are you two holding up…? I feel like my ears are ringing.”

“I’m fine! I’ve heard gunfire before.”

“I’m okay too. Administrator, don’t worry about the temporary hearing loss.”

“It must be just me then…”

“It’ll be fine soon. Even if it’s chaotic now, there shouldn’t be any lasting hearing issues.”

Camila lightly patted Francesca on the back and smiled brightly.

Francesca shook her head as if feeling uneasy, while Lucia checked on Francesca’s condition.

Francesca spoke.

“Good… our first plan worked. What’s the next step to find the situation room, as the Colonel mentioned…?”

“That should be easy to find. First, let’s…”

Camila rummaged through her belongings and pulled something out.

It was paper.

“We’re moving on to the next step.”

She smiled softly.

“We’re going underground. Hurry before it’s too late!”

*

Bullets were flying from all directions.

A head that had been foolishly sticking out was smashed and rolled aside.

A deafening crack rang through the air. The muzzle spat out fierce flames, and the bullets flew, piercing through the torso.

When the deafening noise ceased, a brief silence was followed by the sound of ‘crick’ and then another shot rang out.

It felt like everything was flowing in slow motion as I approached the fallen terrorist and placed my hand on his chest.

“Are you okay?”

“T-teacher…”

The terrorist shot in the chest gripped the doctor’s hand tightly. The doctor quickly gazed down at the inflating and deflating chest, stuffing cloth into the wound.

“Argh!”

“Endure. If you bleed, it’s dangerous. We’ll think about infection later; controlling the bleeding is the priority.”

The doctor displayed skills from a bygone era as he swiftly treated the gunshot victim. Though over twenty years had passed, the rhythm from treating gunshot victims still remained.

After plugging the wound, the doctor checked the terrorist’s palm and felt his pulse.

The heartbeat was fast, and the palm was wet.

He was in shock.

“Calm down and listen to me well. The moment you realize you’ve been shot, several anomalies occur in the body. Usually, there’s dryness in the mouth, sweat on the palms, and an increased heart rate. Is your mouth dry?”

“Y-yes.”

“Don’t worry. Since the lung and artery were missed, there shouldn’t be any dangerous issues. You’re lucky.”

At those words, the trembling terrorist faintly smiled.

“W-wait… I’m shot… and you’re making jokes?!”

“Just hold on. Get someone to move this guy! Right now!”

As I shouted, a bullet flew and embedded itself into the wall with a loud thud. Hearing that chilling sound, the doctor instinctively covered the injured terrorist with his body.

-—!

Shattered concrete fell to the ground as sharp fragments, and dust from the blown-out area scattered everywhere.

In the doctor’s ears were simultaneous, familiar voices.

“Hey, how many shots did that bastard fire?!”

“Two, four, five… six…! Six shots…!”

“That pistol! Isn’t that a revolver?!”

“Uh, y-yeah…!”

“How many bullets? How many does he have? Huh? Not six, right?!”

“Uh, right…! He shot them all…!”

“Then what are we waiting for? We need to push forward! Let’s go now!”

Voices came from two terrorists, hiding behind a marble flower bed filled with dirt, coordinating their efforts. The terrorists pulled the triggers of their revolvers and exchanged glances before standing up.

And the doctor shouted at them.

“What are you doing, you fools! Hide now!”

But it was too late. Before my voice could reach them, the bullets flew first.

Bang, bang, bang. Amid four gunshots, the rushing terrorists were hit twice each and fell.

In the man’s hand, who had been hiding behind the column, was not a revolver but another pistol.

The doctor looked at the man holding two pistols through some clutter.

Then it happened.

“Hey, you bastard!”

One of the terrorists sprang up and started firing.

The thunderous gunfire echoed inside the building. The thick hunting lead shot shattered the pillar’s exterior, demonstrating its destructive power. The force was incomparable to small caliber bullets.

However, the lead shot only shattered the outer surface. It couldn’t penetrate the column that was filled with rebar and concrete. But—

It was threatening enough.

As glass shards, concrete pieces, sharp wood, and torn aluminum flew in all directions, the man froze behind the pillar, unable to move.

So the terrorist kept pulling the trigger, blasting shotgun rounds.

“Die!”

“Good job, Maxim! Keep shooting!”

“I got it, but shut up and you guys shoot too! I’m running low on ammo!”

The terrorist named Maxim conversed with another while adjusting his lever-action shotgun and spoke to the other terrorists. It was Marco.

“Magda, Vanya! You two go and catch him! We’ll support you!”

“I got it, Marco. I’ll go around and hit him, so please cover me. Can you do that?”

“I got it!”

Two skilled hunters suggested a flanking maneuver. It was a superb insight.

But like all plans, everyone usually has a seemingly reasonable strategy.

Until they’re beaten up.

-BANG!

Unlike a shotgun or old revolver, a very unfamiliar sound quieted the surroundings heavy with Maxim’s shotgun blasts.

The bullet didn’t create a silence as if it had some magical sound dampening feature.

It simply hit the terrorist who was firing.

“Ugh!”

The terrorist blasting his shotgun twisted his face. The hand on the trigger began to pathetically feel around his knee, losing balance and collapsing to the ground.

“W-what’s happening, Maxim?!”

“I-I got hit… in the leg…!”

“…What?”

“My toe—”

BANG! Before the terrorist could finish, his head exploded.

Marco could see the blood coming out from the hole in Maxim’s shoe and the brain matter splattered on the ground, alongside the adult male-sized gap beneath the structure Maxim had been using for cover.

“Maxim? Maxim! Hey!”

“…Damn.”

The terrorists, who thought Maxim would rise again at any moment, only got up to start shooting when the man behind the pillar made his escape.

*

The firearms confiscated from the terrorists were mostly awkward to use.

Perhaps they hadn’t been maintained, and their condition was terrible, all products produced at least decades, if not a century, ago, falling far behind the weapons used by regular armed forces.

While people often say getting shot will kill someone, that only applies to guns maintained properly.

Old firearms could miss their target even when aimed correctly, and poorly made cartridges wouldn’t be able to penetrate even makeshift cover. Especially revolvers. Anything below the .38 Special level wouldn’t even be used.

Yeah, ammo’s a problem too.

The ammunition was rusted here and there. Given the terrorists’ neglect, the bullets were in bad shape too. Firing even became a concern; the thought of them possibly exploding in the chamber when pulling the trigger was plausible.

But when it comes to desperation, anything works.

Even these janky guns shot reasonably well from close range.

“……!”

I gripped the gun barrel of a terrorist who was moving close to the corner, lifted it, and pressed the revolver against his torso, pulling the trigger.

-—!

A metallic sound echoed from the terrorist’s throat with a hole punched in his chest. When hit in the lung, it usually makes that kind of noise, meaning this one pierced through.

I dashed out, crammed an arm between the side of the dying terrorist, and bolted out around the corner. The approaching terrorists saw me and panicked, leveling their guns, but they couldn’t pull the triggers against the back of their comrade who was in the line of fire.

Bang, bang, bang. Without aiming, I hit three of them in a flurry of fire. There was no time for precision shots.

I shoved the body aside and dashed for the makeshift cover I had prepared while the terrorists, who followed closely, started firing all around.

“There he is! That guy hiding over there, I saw him!”

“Fire! Shoot him! Everyone, shoot!”

The gun muzzles went off in unison.

The terrorists seemed determined to avenge their fallen comrades, pouring bullets into efforts to obliterate me.

I gritted my teeth against the hearing loss that had been bothering me, calmly discarded the battered revolver and pulled out the pistol provided by the Military Intelligence Agency. No ammo.

All pistols issued to employees except for the Special Investigation Bureau under the Ministry of Justice are the same in Military Intelligence Agency, Royal Intelligence Department, and Cabinet Security Office.

It looked a bit like a PPK.

The appearance was similar, the magazine held eight rounds including one in the chamber, and even the grip was short, necessitating a pinky-off grip. Though the cartridges were different.

I pressed the magazine release and removed the magazine. I quickly inserted a new one.

The Military Intelligence Agency’s pistol had no forward catch like the PPK, so I had to manually pull the fixed slide back and let it go.

-Click!

Gripping the pistol, I crouched down and quickly looked through the hole in the floor. About 20 meters away, the feet of terrorists, immobile in their positions, were visible.

I lay flat and shot at the feet of the terrorists.

The terrorist whose shoes turned to rags naturally lost his balance and fell, and I shot at the head of the fallen terrorist. After taking down a couple, the terrorists scattered and hid behind what looked like sturdy cover.

Of course, it only ‘looked’ sturdy; in reality, terrorists hiding behind things like wooden tables or aluminum barriers could be easily killed.

-—! —! —! —!

I discarded cover and kept moving, shooting at the terrorists. Predictably, they wouldn’t even dare to raise their heads, fearing the bullets, allowing me to reach my prepared shelter safely.

Once there, I managed to take down around six of them, and it seemed the surviving terrorists, enraged, were firing wildly at me whenever they found a moment.

“Ah, these bastards…”

Now they were resorting to suppressing fire as well.

The terrorists were diverse in the weapons they wielded, from single-action revolvers and shotguns to lever actions and bolt actions, making their firepower immense. Given their numbers, I was in a significantly disadvantageous position.

I leaned my back against a solid obstacle, exhaling a shallow sigh.

Thanks to the weights I had brought from the fitness center stacked carefully into a makeshift barrier, I could afford to sit there safely against even old bullets.

“…….”

I reached into my jacket pocket to count the number of magazines left.

Digging through my pockets, I discovered only two magazines remained.

Two.

That was all.

*

“Ah, this isn’t it?”

Peeking out, Camila spoke to Lucia and Francesca as they examined the inside.

“Are you sure? Maybe you misread it because it’s too dark….”

“Yes. There’s just a box inside. It’s an old warehouse.”

“Is that so, Saint…?”

Francesca turned her head toward Lucia, who wore a bitter smile.

“That’s unfortunate. What should we do with these two then?”

Lucia pointed at the two terrorists lying on the ground. Their limp forms looked like corpses, but the bubbling foam coming from their mouths indicated they were unconscious, not dead.

They were subdued terrorists.

“Well…? More importantly, I wonder why terrorists are wandering around here…?”

“Maybe something important is nearby? For now, let’s not kill them, just leave them here. Can we tie them up?”

“No, I don’t have anything… but we might be able to use shoelaces…? They seem quite long….”

“We can untie them quickly.”

“Wait a moment. Let me look for something inside to tie them up.”

Lucia stepped outside holding a bundle of strings and tape. As Camila tied the terrorists up so they couldn’t escape, Lucia and Francesca searched the department store’s basement.

“I can’t figure out where the Colonel’s mentioned room could be.”

“Even the Colonel probably didn’t expect the basement to be this large…”

They searched deep within the basement, trying to find a room that vibrated or made noise. The department store basement was eerily silent without even a single ant walking around, and no signs of vibration or noise were felt, despite their attempts to look carefully.

“Wait a moment.”

Camila, who had tied up the terrorists, stretched and stood up.

“I think I have a rough idea of where it is, and I might even know the exact location.”

“Really?”

“Come follow me!”

As Camila shouted and dashed out, Lucia and Francesca followed, their expressions filled with doubt. Camila led them through the basement of the department store like a piper leading two followers. Specifically, she was moving not through the central part of the basement but around the outskirts.

After a while of zigzagging around, Camila exclaimed,

“…Ah, here! Come over here!”

She found their destination.

*

The magazines had dwindled to just two. Despite picking up guns abandoned by the terrorists and trying to save ammo by using a knife, bringing too few magazines had become a problem.

It was a good choice to have brought a pistol for the protection of a VIP. However, they hadn’t anticipated being isolated like this.

Who would expect to be trapped for hours in the middle of a bustling metropolis? If the moment arose where they had to fire a gun, they thought a patrol car would arrive before running out of bullets, but the police? Not a chance. Communication with the company was impossible.

“…Huh.”

Things had spiraled out of control.

The bullets had nearly run out, and my body was covered in wounds. Fortunately, the terrorists had stopped firing, nor were they aggressively pushing in, but their numbers outweighed mine by far.

What a fine mess I was in.

I leaned my head against the cover and let out a short sigh. Feeling like I was definitely in trouble filled my mind, but now that I was in this state, regret weighed heavier. At the very least, I should have brought a rifle instead of just a pistol for VIP security. Or maybe requested plainclothes police? Regrets occasionally surfaced in my mind.

“…Hey.”

From the entrance, in the direction where the terrorists were stationed, someone called out. A familiar voice broke the silence as someone spoke in Abasian.

Since I had no reason to speak up, the speaker could only be a terrorist. I opened my ears, focusing, and took a position with my pistol.

If the terrorists planned to push in, I intended to eavesdrop first.

But the terrorist began speaking in Abasian, not Kienese.

“Are you still there?”

I recognized the voice.

“I know you’re there, Inspector. I know you’re listening.”

“……”

“Let’s talk. You and I. Just the two of us.”

It was the so-called doctor. The terrorist who claimed to have graduated from the Sezolon Imperial Medical University began addressing me. His tone was distinctly different from other terrorists, almost intimidating enough to make me feel a bit off balance.

What’s this nonsense about?

“……”

I didn’t respond. I was certain that no matter how long I stayed silent, that guy would keep talking. And at this moment, I needed time.

Checking my watch, I awaited the terrorist’s next words.

“I know you’re listening there. Let’s solve this through conversation.”

“…What the hell are you talking about, teacher? That bastard now—”

“Shh! Marco, don’t raise your voice. That puts you in danger too.”

“But—”

“……”

I focused on the conversation that was still ongoing.

Unlike a mere information officer, a diplomat must be fluent in the language of the host country when being dispatched overseas. They require proficiency not only just in listening, reading, writing, and speaking but also in composing business emails or dialects and even a second language. Only then can they manage something during overseas deployment.

In that context, Kienese was one of the languages I could command. The Kien Empire was my assigned territory.

As I concentrated my mind and focused my ears, I could faintly hear the murmurs of the terrorists.

“Many of our companions have died, teacher. That guy is the reason, and even with your firm will, it’s impossible to keep him alive! Other people will not accept it!”

“That’s why we can’t fight here, Marco. We can’t afford to lose any more people.”

“We’ve already lost too many. Muhammad, Evgeny, Maxim, Franz…”

“Marco! We’re not barbarians. Remember this, Marco. We don’t die for the dead; we live for those who can survive!”

“It’s impossible right now, teacher!”

“Lower your voice, Irina! It’s dangerous!”

“……”

From what I gathered, the outline became clearer.

The ‘teacher’ who spoke with me seemed to be the head honcho. For some unknown reason, he keeps insisting on saving me and talks about negotiations, leading the conversation with his proposals. Especially with how he was taking initiative, and the other terrorists were addressing him with honorifics—it indicated authority or something close to it.

Marco and Irina seemed to be opposing the ‘teacher’s’ decisions.

Marco was trying to convince the ‘teacher’ using the negative attitudes of group members as a basis, which felt a bit vague. However, Irina was quite solid on her approach. She kept rambling about killing me, nonsense like that.

“Try taking him away and show him to people. They’ll want to tear him apart immediately!?”

“What are you saying? No matter what crimes he’s committed, we can’t kill so mercilessly. That was already a decision made before we came here, the police, or rather, our decision.”

“That was to avoid killing innocent people! Does it mean this guy is innocent? Is there any civilian who would bring a gun to a department store and shoot people dead?!”

“From what I can gather, it sounds like self-defense. He’s a cop. You understand self-defense, don’t you, Irina?”

“Shut up, Marco. Teacher, that guy shot Morrian and escaped. Even if you spare him, he might come back to kill us!”

Smooth.

She seems to have good judgment on people.

“Got it, just sit down Irina! Lower your voice!”

“Ugh, ugh—”

“Teacher. For now, I’ll calm Irina down; you can take the floor.”

“…Thanks, Marco.”

“It’s nothing. Just be careful.”

The conversation ended.

As I mentally organized the chat among the terrorists, I prepared to either escape or attack at any moment. For now, it seemed they didn’t intend to attack me, but as always, I knew that anything could happen.

I checked the time and gripped the lighter in my pocket.

I’d love a smoke right about now.

“…There. Are you listening?”

“Yeah. I’m here. You want to have a chat?”

“That’s right.”

“Sounds good.”

With a cool response from me, the terrorist expressed gratitude.

“Do your colleagues not understand Abasian?”

“That’s right. It’s just you and me. A private conversation.”

I exchanged words with the terrorist, keeping my sturdy cover between us. Though I couldn’t see his form, I could roughly feel the distance between us.

“What do you want?”

“Drop your weapons and surrender. Then we’ll spare you.”

“Unconditional surrender. Tsk, did you really think I would do that?”

“No.”

The terrorist responded firmly.

“If I were that kind of person, I would have surrendered long ago. There may never have been a reason to fight in the first place. I know you’re not the kind who easily surrenders.”

“Then why say that?”

“I figured, maybe, just maybe, you might drop your gun and surrender.”

The terrorist answered my question without a hint of hesitation or uncertainty.

How delightfully romantic.

I couldn’t tell if he was innocent or naive. He sounded like an idealist, but given his background in this No Man’s Land, he couldn’t simply be a delusional person. Being endured so long against the dark and twisted individuals had caused me great discomfort.

To mess with him a little, I opened my mouth just to kill time.

“If I surrender, your comrades probably won’t spare me. Am I wrong?”

“That could be true.”

“Of course, you’ll insist on saving me, right? Am I right?”

“That’s correct.”

“Why do you persist in doing this? We’re meeting for the first time today. It feels a bit too late to be talking about surrendering.”

The terrorist answered.

“There is no such thing as being too late for human affairs. We are humans.”

“……”

“What makes a person human isn’t their nature but their reason. That’s the only line separating a barbarian from a civilized being.”

“That sounds very philosophical. Aren’t you a doctor?”

“Isn’t there a rule against doctors being philosophers?”

“Oh, damn… If the sciences delve into philosophy, what’s left for the humanities?”

At that moment.

I noticed something moving across from me. Slightly protruding clothing, hair, shadows weaving between structures, the sound of glass crunching, the sound of guns being readied.

The terrorists were moving.

Coming in my direction.

“……”

I checked my watch again and fervently prayed Camila had found her way.

Amid the flurry of sounds breaking the silence, the terrorist’s voice reached me.

“Think it through! I can’t give you much time to think!”

“……”

“You’ve a long life ahead of you, don’t you think you could avoid spilling blood here? Let’s not waste a youthful life!”

While the terrorist shouted at me, the other terrorists edged closer, tightening their encirclement. Though they weren’t trained well and were quite clumsy, their numbers still posed a threat.

Confirming that the terrorists were within reach, I took a deep breath.

And at the perfect timing when I needed help—

-BANG!

“…Huh?”

“What’s going on? Why did the lights go out?”

“Hey, I can’t see in front of me. It’s scary.”

“Is this magic…?”

“Shut up, idiots!”

The lights throughout the department store went out.

As confused terrorists fumbled around, I cocked the hammer and briefly closed my eyes. With darkness engulfing me, all surrounding noises felt distant.

“…Wow.”

I had heard them boast about it, but I truly hadn’t expected it to happen.

“She really did it, Camila.”