Illusion Report

Generally, the criminal underworld doesn’t like to cross the police.

They’re part of the massive state machine, a system that constantly replenishes itself with new blood. More than that, they’re a violent collective happy to abuse their power and cover for one another. Once you’re on their radar, it’s a world of trouble.

This was why Chaisi had always remained submerged, keeping a safe and peaceful distance from the police. It wasn’t that he feared the law—after all, a man can’t fear something he doesn’t even acknowledge exists.

But by the same token, he wouldn’t bow to something that didn’t exist in his eyes either.

Since he was never going to be brought to justice, any confrontation with law enforcement naturally meant war. That was why, if it could be avoided, he was unwilling to drag the Kai Family into a war.

Today, however, it seemed unavoidable.

To take the "Rumor" from Chaisi was a declaration of war against the Kai Family—even if Chaisi still didn’t know who had given the order to the police.

He felt his tongue press against the inside of his cheek and slide across.

The "Rumor" would always twitch on its own for no reason. But it seemed to move more frequently when its host dwelled on it—and by "move," of course, it meant Chaisi’s tongue.

Involuntarily, Chaisi slowly licked his lips, as if to confirm that he still had control over his own tongue.

In most power struggles, there’s always a tipping point where one side wanes as the other waxes.

The underworld and the Hunter Family Factions were unwilling to provoke the police because the police would become a lingering, major hassle. So, when a confrontation became inevitable, the solution was simple: become a nightmare even more terrifying, something they’d be even more reluctant to provoke.

It was always easier to be the one causing trouble than the one receiving it.

"...Are you sure? We’re talking about the entire Blackmoor City police system." The woman on the phone chuckled softly. "You should know, once we make a move, we don’t stop halfway. Have you thought through the consequences?"

"I don’t remember you being this talkative," Chaisi replied in a low voice.

"I’m just looking out for you," the woman on the phone said, unconcerned. "But out of curiosity, let me ask. What about your own family’s Hunters? Why come to us instead of them?"

"They have another assignment."

"Eh, so you give the dangerous jobs to us Mercenaries?" the woman nicknamed Mercury said, drawing out her words. "How very calculating of you."

This was no time for Chaisi to be making small talk.

Amidst a floor of shattered tables, splintered chairs, and shards of glass, he remained seated in the suspect’s chair. It was the only piece of furniture in the entire room still standing intact.

Chaisi crossed his long legs, his phone resting on his knee in a precarious balance, a single touch away from toppling over.

One hand was draped over the back of the chair, the other held a gun. He tapped the body of the gun lightly against the chair, creating a rhythmic metallic sound, as if keeping time with a tune only he could hear.

Fley sat on the floor, handcuffed to a leg of the chair, his face mere inches from the pistol. Whenever it lifted slightly into the air, Fley couldn’t help but dart a quick glance at it.

He was tough, to his credit. The pain from his severed arm had left his face pale and beaded with sweat, yet he remained silent, straining his ears to listen to Chaisi’s call.

"When can you get here?" Chaisi asked, getting straight to the point. "Outside this door, there are at least dozens of cops looking for a chance to break in."

"Oh? And how have you held out for so long?" Mercury asked breezily. Anyone who didn’t know better might have thought she was asking about his cardio routine.

"A hostage, negotiations, a few bullets... and a little bit of luck," Chaisi said in a low voice.

Mercury laughed, her voice bright and clear. It was hard to believe that such a cheerful person, so quick to laugh, commanded the largest force of mercenary Hunters in Blackmoor City. For many retired Hunters, becoming a mercenary was perhaps the most suitable way to survive.

For Hunters who frequently traveled in and out of the Nests, the real world had long since lost its flavor.

No matter how long they stayed back, fear, love, and death in the human world were all permanently separated from them by a filter. Like unseasoned food, a photograph, or a secondhand story... whatever happened, it never felt vivid or real.

’...What was it called again? Nest Dissociation Syndrome?’

"For the simple fact that you have my number memorized, I won’t disappoint you," Mercury said, sounding almost cheerful. "If only every target you gave me were as easy to find as the Central Police Station... We’re already on our way. See you in a bit."

Chaisi let out a soft laugh through his nose.

After he slipped Fley’s phone into his pocket, Fley finally spoke, hesitating.

"What... what are you planning to do? Even if you call in some Mercenaries or gang members, it’s useless. They’ve probably already called for SWAT backup. A few gangsters are nothing in the face of a special tactics team."

A cop being taken hostage by a suspect inside the Central Police Station might not have been a first, but a suspect calling in Mercenaries? That was likely unprecedented in the history of Blackmoor City.

"Gangsters?" Chaisi glanced at him, intrigued. "You think I’m with the mob? You’ve really been kept in the dark. What did the person behind this tell you?"

Fley shook his head, either because he wasn’t high-ranking enough to know, or because he was unwilling and afraid to say.

"I’m your only ticket out of here alive right now, I know that. There’s no way you’ll let me go." He spoke in an almost earnest, persuasive tone. "You’ve killed a cop. There’s no turning back for you now, so I won’t try to convince you to surrender..."

As he said this, he glanced at the wall opposite Chaisi.

Chaisi was facing the shattered one-way mirror, giving him a clear view of the adjacent room.

Someone had tried to get clever earlier, planning a surprise breach from the next room. They hadn’t counted on Chaisi having already smashed the glass wall, allowing him to spot the movement instantly. Now, the wall in that other room was splattered with a huge spray of blood, which trickled down to the floor in thin streams, like a blood-red forest in a postmodernist painting.

Beneath the bloody wall, several bodies lay crumpled on the ground, like an artist’s signature in the corner of their masterpiece.

"...And because you can’t surrender, you need to make good use of the only hostage you have. I’m not just saying this for your sake, but for my own as well," Fley continued. "You should know, you have a chance to escape this station."

Chaisi shot him a glance.

"Even if you took their guns and have enough ammo for now, how long can you last on your own?"

Fley’s face was white with pain, but he still spoke coherently. "A direct fight is a losing battle. Using your hostage to escape the station smoothly—that’s the best outcome, right? For my own safety, I’m willing to cooperate and help you get out. But if you don’t see reason and insist on calling in armed backup, once things escalate, it won’t be so easy for you to walk out of here alive."

Chaisi didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled the phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen.

The phone’s wallpaper was a photo of Fley and his son. Their smiling faces seemed jarringly out of place, glowing in the interrogation room.

"Your people won’t be here anytime soon,"

Fley, seeming to mistake Chaisi’s glance at the phone as checking the time, seized the opportunity. "Do you really trust them to risk their lives for you? They might not even show up at all. How long are you going to sit here trapped? Aren’t you afraid they’ll just toss in a smoke grenade, regardless of whether I live or die? You’d be better off making your demands now. Have them get a car ready for you, and leave the station as soon as possible."

The time on the screen ticked forward by one digit.

’It’s not time yet...’ Chaisi thought. He turned his head and stared at Fley for a few seconds.

Being stared at like that, Fley involuntarily shifted backward. His handcuffs made a sharp CLANG.

Fley was certainly going to great lengths to create an opportunity for his colleagues.

The main hall of the Central Police Station was circular. From the walkway outside any room on the second-floor ring, you could see the hall below. This meant that the moment Chaisi left the second-floor interrogation room, he would be voluntarily giving the police a chance to surround him. No matter how skilled he was, could he dodge a bullet coming from behind?

Chaisi was confident in his skills, but not to the point of delusion.

"I, however, can offer you an opportunity," Chaisi said in a low voice. "Who sent you after me? What do you know... Tell me everything, right now."

Fley froze.

"Of course," Chaisi considered himself a very reasonable person, so he patiently explained, "if I just advise you like this, you probably won’t listen. Judging by your expression, it looks like it’s been a while since you’ve used your brain. So let me spell it out for you."

Fley’s eyes darted toward the door. The room was well soundproofed, but some faint, rustling sounds still filtered through.

"You’re certainly not the only one who knows the inside story. You’re not uniquely valuable. You can choose to tell me everything you know right now, and we’ll call that your apology."

Chaisi raised his hand and used the muzzle of his gun to gently push aside a few strands of hair stuck to Fley’s forehead with sweat. Fley seemed to use a great deal of effort to keep from flinching back.

"Of course, you can also choose not to apologize. Once I have control of the Central Police Station building and everyone inside it, I’ll find another person who knows... It shouldn’t be hard to find someone more polite than you. And what happens to the impolite ones? They end up on the flagpole."

Fley closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"You might be... you might be a little unstable."

It was clear it had taken a lot of courage for him to say that, but he said it anyway. Perhaps he was banking on being the only hostage, confident that Chaisi wouldn’t actually kill him.

"Take control of the Central Police Station? You’re oversimplifying things... This is real life, not a TV show.

"Besides the Blackmoor City police’s SWAT team, there’s a federal-level SWAT team. The federal government also has its own HRT, the Hostage Rescue Team. Depending on the situation, special military units can get here much faster than you think. Do you really believe the few armed men you’ve called can declare war on this country’s military?"

After listening, Chaisi simply nodded.

Aside from a lock of black hair that had fallen across his forehead during the earlier scuffle, his expression was completely placid.

"So that’s where our taxpayer money goes. Are you suggesting, then, that I shouldn’t let word of what happens here get out?"

After he finished speaking, Chaisi tapped the phone’s screen. There were no notifications, messages, or calls, yet he suddenly let out a low chuckle from deep in his throat. "Ah, they’re here."

With a flick of his wrist, he turned the phone’s screen toward Fley’s face.

"What?" Fley asked, stunned.

"You don’t see it?" Chaisi said as he stood up from the chair.

His black shirt was wrinkled and, at some point, had been spattered with barely-noticeable flecks of blood. The smell of gore mixed with his cologne was like a dizzying poison. "Your chance is over."

"Wh—what? I don’t understand..."

Chaisi’s long fingers tapped a corner of the screen twice as a hint, though he had no real intention of educating Fley. Just as he was about to put the phone away, however, Fley sucked in a sharp breath.

’He is a detective, after all. His powers of observation aren’t half-bad.’

"What is that?" Fley asked blankly. "My carrier’s network symbol... shouldn’t it be showing a ’T’? Wh-what is that thing?"

Chaisi leaned down low, meeting his eyes.

"You see it? The character for ’Nest’?" He knew Fley wouldn’t understand, but he smiled anyway. "The Blackmoor City Central Police Station is now within the ’Nest Communication Network’."