Black Badger

Ricardo ran a hand through his hair.

Then he rose soundlessly from the bed. He didn’t put on slippers. Instead, as he stood, he picked up a .22 caliber pistol.

He liked the .22. The small-caliber handgun barely made an exit wound. If you wrapped the target in a shower curtain before firing, cleanup was simple.

A .32 wasn’t bad either.

But the one beside his pillow tonight was the .22.

So Ricardo picked it up and walked slowly toward the bedroom door.

He had thought he’d washed his hands of this kind of thing long ago.

He didn’t feel bad.

If assassins had come for him, that meant Hildebert was definitely alive somewhere.

He felt no resistance either. He would never aim a gun at someone first—but he was not the kind of man to hesitate pulling the trigger when a gun was aimed at him.

Judging by the noise they were making, they were either incompetent or numerous.

He pushed the door open gently.

It was a quiet night. The moon was bright enough that it wasn’t dark.

Not that moonlight would matter once bullets started pouring in.

The neat living room spread out before him.

Everything exactly where he knew it would be. Ricardo reflexively identified furniture that could serve as cover.

After confirming his routes, he positioned himself beside the wall pad.

No matter where they attacked from, this was a blind spot. He had always known that. He just hadn’t needed to use that knowledge until now.

But now the time had come.

He rested his hand over the slide and angled the muzzle toward the ceiling.

If he listened carefully, he could hear faint footsteps. Not only from above—there were movements near the bedroom window too.

Even if ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) the times changed, cockroaches stayed the same.

The corner of his mouth curled upward.

The attack began.

Tatatatatatatatang!!

Tatata-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta!

Bang! Bang! BOOOOM!

A storm of bullets rained down onto the bed.

Behind him, the mattress burst open. Springs snapped, torn fabric scattered. Ricardo did not look back.

Instead, he raised cold eyes toward the figures smashing through the living room ceiling with axes.

Moonlight streamed in.

Axe blades. Gun muzzles.

Human silhouettes.

Bang!

“Argh!”

In less than a second, Ricardo chambered and fired. The man hit screamed and fell into the living room.

Shouts erupted from the roof.

“He’s awake!”

“Living room! Living room!”

Tatatatatatang!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

A barrage poured into the living room. Dozens of holes tore into the floor and sofa. Bullets surely laced with Green Dream fell like rain. Ricardo calmly fired into open air.

Two fell. One cursed and vanished from sight.

Two others jumped down into the living room.

At the same time, the bedroom window shattered. Intruders climbed in—at least three.

Ricardo charged at one who had landed in the living room.

Bang!

The man tried to raise his gun, but Ricardo was faster.

The bullet lodged into his shoulder. The arm jerked back like a door ripped off its hinge.

Ricardo grabbed the reeling man and rolled with him across the floor.

They passed through the living room and slid behind a kitchen pillar.

As he rose, Ricardo drew a dagger from the man’s waistband and slit his throat.

Pshhk!

Tatatatang!

He blocked incoming bullets with the pillar and the corpse.

It wouldn’t hold long.

So attack.

He activated the morphing weapon.

The silver ring he never removed even while sleeping melted down to the floor.

Tatata-tatang!

“Urgh!”

“Push! Push push push!”

“Bastards! We were here first!”

But before the silver morphing weapon could coil around the feet of one of the attackers in the living room, the man trying to fling the sofa this way was shot and dropped.

The shots had come from those who entered through the bedroom window.

Different groups.

So there was a bounty on him.

Heh.

“Fall back if you don’t want to die!”

Masked men kept pouring in through the bedroom.

While they shouted up at the half-destroyed ceiling, Ricardo took the gun from the corpse’s hand.

.38 caliber.

Bang!

No hesitation.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Every shot hit.

Two were struck in the head and died instantly. Three more had their arms and legs pierced and collapsed wetly. If he hadn’t erred, he had severed arteries. Not immediate death—but soon.

Tatata-ta-ta-ta!

Gunfire again.

Bullets ricocheted.

A heated round grazed his cheek. A distant burn flared and blood ran.

Green Dream coated the bullet. The wound didn’t close. A bit of strength slipped away.

Damn drug.

Still, this wasn’t new.

He crouched behind the increasingly perforated pillar and corpse and stayed still.

Then he lifted his eyes.

Kraaaak!

Spikes erupted from the floor and skewered intruders.

The torrent of gunfire stopped.

Like a massive beanstalk, the silver weapon shot upward, forming a barrier and impaling bodies like skewers.

One of the impaled men burst apart.

Illegal enhanced-body side effect.

Calmly rising, Ricardo aimed at those still on the roof and fired until the magazine ran dry.

Gunfire ceased for a moment.

Ricardo crossed the living room at speed and struck the temple of a man still pinned on a spike with the barrel.

Crack!

He threw the empty gun aside and picked up another from the floor.

He walked to the last one stuck on a spike and pressed the muzzle to the man’s forehead.

“What did you come for?”

His voice was gentle.

“How many are there?”

“...Don—”

Bang!

One word was enough.

No time for more. He heard people climbing in through the shattered window again. Footsteps ascended the half-broken roof.

Unlike before, those entering now seemed to be one team.

This could truly be a one-way trip.

Ricardo discarded the nostalgic thought.

He hadn’t expected something this large-scale.

He moved the silver spikes to create cover and slowly retreated toward the kitchen.

This many people only gathered when organizations clashed.

And all this—for one man?

Should he feel proud that a whole squad had been mobilized to take him, or irritated?

As he considered it, someone shouted—

“Grenade!”

The bedroom exploded.

BOOOOM!

It was a sound so vast it felt tangible.

The shockwave shoved even his body behind the silver barrier backward. A choked grunt escaped as he was thrown into the kitchen cabinets.

Bang!

A cutting board clattered down and stuck into the floor.

Ricardo cursed in Italian and rose to assess.

Those climbing through the window were dead or groaning.

Several from the ceiling had fallen as well. The grenade’s blast had collapsed what remained of it.

He raised a brow watching bodies hit the floor.

Which idiot threw a grenade into a room where their own men were?

They had enough firepower to overwhelm him without it.

They knew others had already gone in—yet someone tossed one blindly from outside?

Internal strife? Or some incompetent who lost his head?

Either way, it benefited him—

.......

What did the voice sound like?

Ricardo sprang up.

The living room was a mess of blood, flesh, corpses, and wounded men. The ceiling collapsed. Furniture overturned. Debris everywhere.

He ran into the chaos, grabbed any gun with remaining rounds—

—and bolted out the front door.

Ignoring any intruders still alive.

He burst into the street.

A dark road.

And one man running.

Tatadak!

The way he ran was ridiculous.

So ridiculous Ricardo immediately judged that could not be Hildebert. Hildebert did not run that clumsily.

He didn’t flee pigeon-toed like that.

That was the sprint of an ignorant thug who realized too late he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

The man wore a gray hood like street punks. The bizarre pants they favored. Even the worn-out shoes didn’t match Hildebert.

Ricardo halted.

Gun raised, he scanned for other escapees.

Maybe someone had gone another way.

Or maybe it truly was a lucky accident caused by some useless fool.

.......

“Not a single survivor?”

Ricardo laughed coldly.

“That bastard’s the only one left.”

Irritation surged.

The hooded man dropped something from his pocket mid-run.

Ricardo knew exactly what it was.

Green Dream antidote.

Hildebert.

You bastard....

Ricardo raised his gun.

Tatata-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-tang!!

He opened fire at the fleeing figure.

The man wasn’t hit. He panicked, then accelerated—body screaming, What the hell is this?!

Tatadadak!

In that pathetic form.

Bang!

This time Ricardo meant to hit him.

Bang! Bang!

But he still missed.

The man vanished into darkness.

Ricardo memorized the clothes and shoes of the person who was almost certainly Hildebert Taleb.

He walked forward, picked up the antidote from the road, and returned to the wrecked house in fury.

A house full of corpses and wounded.

The only fortunate thing about them coming in waves?

If even one among them wasn’t enhanced, it would help justify self-defense.

With this level of chaos, he could even claim they shot each other.

Not entirely false.

Crack.

So perhaps he could tidy up a bit first.

Ricardo stepped on the cheek of a surviving man lying beside the wrecked sofa.

He bent down, staring at the masked figure gasping beneath his boot.

“So what did you come for?”

Mostly venting.

He narrowed his eyes, resisting the urge to execute them all.

What was there to be curious about?

He already knew.

Hildebert Taleb.

We’ll see you later.

“What’s your name?”

As he looked down at the man foaming at the mouth, someone nearby jerked upright.

Ricardo pulled his hand from his pocket and smashed the man’s face with contained rage.

***

I almost died.

I tried to calm my frenzied heartbeat.

I almost got killed by Ricardo’s bullets....