Desolator’s Last Stand

Desolator sat in the passenger’s seat of a black sedan with tinted windows. He fiddled with his .45. The sight was off by just a hair. In the driver’s seat sat one of Chisaki’s men. A deeply tanned, bald, and muscular Japanese man with poorly hidden tattoos. His name was Ozawa. Desolator loathed Ozawa.

“I don’t see da point of sending da youn’ miss to school. Not like she’s gunna need any o’ dis shit.” Ozawa continued.

Desolator stayed silent. Maybe if he kept his peace the dumb oaf would get the hint.

“I said da same to Chisaki-sama, he jus’ told me not to let da Boss hear me talking like that.”

… Desolator didn’t think this oaf was going to get the hint.

“I don’t see what da big deal is, they got plenty of dough, she don’t have to work a day in her life if she don’t want to.”

Desolator looked at the man’s temple. His .45 pulsed in his hands.

“I mean what’s the point?” Ozawa looked over at Desolator, trying his best to elicit a response.

The only response Desolator had was looking out the window. He spied Eri leaving the massive doors of her private school. The small white haired girl kept her head hung low as she walked past the other students. ‘Is she being bullied?’ The students, her classmates all dressed smartly in different varieties of the same black and gold uniform Eri wore, ignored her. Desolator frowned. ‘Worse, ignored. Poor girl.’

Chelsea had had that issue. How had he and Tara handled that again? It was 50 years ago when Chelsea was in gradeschool. He couldn’t remember.

“Oh! Right, forgot you were a foreigner. Dammit. Why’d I get stuck with da son of a bitch that can’t speak Japanese?”

‘… D-does this fool really think I can’t speak Japanese?’ Desolator thought, blinking in surprise. How the Hell was someone so stupid?

Before Desolator could marvel further at Ozawa’s abject uselessness their diminutive charge opened the door and climbed into the car.

“OH!” Ozawa shouted. The shout aggravated Desolator’s tinnitus.

“Youn’ miss!”

Desolator’s ears rang even louder. His .45 rose on its own. Milimeter by milimeter it left his lap, ready to point at Ozawa.

“How was yer day?!” Ozawa continued obliviously.

‘Not in front of the girl.’ Desolator hissed to himself. Grinding his teeth, he put the .45 in its holster.

“Fine.” Eri answered. Buckling her seatbelt, keeping her eyes downcast in a way that told the entire world that the day had in fact not been fine. Desolator frowned. Hadn’t she been making friends recently? He thought she had.

“Great!” Ozawa shouted, completely guileless.

‘Who hired this idiot?’ Desolator thought to himself.

Ozawa pulled away from the school with a happy hum. An annoyingly happy hum. Was it forced? Had even Ozawa managed to spot that Eri hadn’t had a good day? Desolator looked at Ozawa. That wasn’t it… there was something else. Before he could begin probing Eri interrupted him.

{“Is Maddie not here?”} The little girl asked in English.

Desolator shook his head. She was asking for Maddox. The great bull of a woman had built up a quick rapport with Eri. {“Afraid she’s on a separate assignment.”}

{“...oh.”} Eri studied her shoes.

Desolator shrugged and returned his attention to the road. If he could just remember what he and Tara did for Chelsea… maybe he could give her some advice, but he couldn’t. It sucked being old. Less decisive, less observant, less…

Ozawa took a right. Desolator rechecked his mental map. The preapproved route called for a left. Desolator put a hand on his pistol.

“Ozawa.” Desolator intoned in a low commanding voice. Eri jumped at his tone. Ozawa whirled to his right.

“This isn’t the correct route.”

“You speak Jap--”

“Turn around.” Desolator interrupted him. This was no time for prattle.

“Dis’ll save like 10 minute--”

Desolator pointed his .45 at Ozawa’s face.

Ozawa’s face went white as a sheet. Eri shrieked. She held her hands over her ears.

Desolator ignored the girl for a moment. Ozawa’s face betrayed him. This wasn’t a gambit to save time. This idiot had been paid off. “… pull the car over.”

“I—”

“Now.”

Ozawa kept driving for a moment, frozen with indecision. Desolator pulled the pistol’s hammer back. The bone jarring click got Ozawa’s attention. Without a word, and barely a whimper. Ozawa pulled off to the side of the road.

“Put it in park.” Desolator ordered.

Ozawa obeyed.

“Turn off the ignition.”

Ozawa obeyed.

“Take out the keys.”

Ozawa obeyed.

“Thank you.” Desolator kept his gun trained on the idiot, but he relaxed a hair. Ozawa’s options were now so severely limited he was barely a threat. Even the pistol the fool kept in his right breast pocket didn’t scare Desolator. “Who paid you?”

“I don--”

Eri, surprised she hadn’t heard a gun shot peeked.

“Keep your head down.” Desolator snapped. Eri obeyed.

Ozawa’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. Like he was trying to decide if he still had permission to speak. His head began to turn towards Desolator.

Desolator pressed the muzzle of his pistol against Ozawa’s temple. Eliciting a panicked squeak from the man.

“Keep. Your. Eyes. Forward.” Desolator ordered.

Ozawa nodded numbly.

“I’ll ask one last time. Who paid you to deviate?”

“I—I don’t know his name. I just got da gold in the mail and followed instructions.”

‘This idiot really would work for someone he had no leverage over.’ Desolator thought wryly. ‘… wait...’

“Gold?”

“Y-yeah, d--…dey paid me in gold.”

“…” Well that was either just some lowlife’s ostentatious way of compensating someone or VERY bad. Desolator felt Sam start to stir. He strangled his weaker half before it could affect his judgment.

“What were your instructions?”

“I was supposed to take you to da intersection on 1st and P then stop and wait.”

‘Where they’d kill you too you fucking idiot.’ Assuming Desolator didn’t kill him first, but on the off chance it was Midas…. That son of a bitch would know Desolator would pull a gun on Ozawa the second he deviated from the route. Desolator risked a glance outside the car.

Nothing. Just traffic, foot and motor. He didn’t even feel a tickle in the back of his head. His subconscious hadn’t noticed anything. Okay. Good. It wasn’t Midas then. He’d be swimming in villains right now if it were. At the very least Karma should have a knife to his throat by now. Desolator felt his tension diffuse just a hair. As he was now, without the rest of the Five backing him up, a fight with the Night Parade was unwinnable. Anyone else should be manageable.

“Dey said dey wouldn’t hurt the girl.” Ozawa whispered. Glancing at Eri in the backseat. His eyes filled with tears. He’d just realized the danger he’d put the girl in. Eri kept her head down. She obeyed Desolator’s instructions admirably.

Desolator didn’t say another word. In a swift motion he pistol whipped the man across his throat. The man gurgled as Desolator exited the car. Ozawa’s employer might have put a tracker in the car. He opened Eri’s door and collected her in his arms. She didn’t look at Ozawa. She didn’t take her hands off her ears. She was distressingly used to this.

Eri didn’t make a peep. Desolator was strangely proud as he made his way through the streets. Every little girl in Eri’s position was trained to obey their bodyguards without question. Very few girls were able to put their training into practice when thrust into a stressful situation.

Desolator had gotten half a block away before the car’s horn began to sound. Either Ozawa had thought of the only way he could possibly get help. Or he’d already breathed his last and his head had hit the steering wheel. Either way, the car would be swarming with civilians in moments and Ozawa’s employers would have a hard time getting to the scene. They’d have an even harder time finding out where an old man and a girl had gone in all the confusion. Any moment his enemies were delayed was a moment Desolator and his charge were safe, but staying on foot forever was not an option.

Desolator jogged down a side street. He hoped, prayed, that a car might be on the street, that someone might be just parking. Give him a target. No such luck. The street was empty. Desolator glanced around. These were upscale apartments, some at least 10 stories tall. They had underground parking garages. FUCK. Okay, new plan. Get in one of these garages and--

“Wilson-san?” Eri asked. Her voice was quavering, but she was stable.

“Keep your head down Eri. You’re as safe as you can be.”

Eri obeyed. Smart girl.

Just then a black SUV screeched around the corner and barreled towards Desolator. Not down the road. Not past them. It drove right at him and Eri.

Desolator’s mind reeled, but his body moved. He pointed his .45 at the SUV. He adjusted his aim, a little below the driver’s head, the windshield would deflect the round up. He waited until the SUV was 10 meters away. Perfect. He fired twice.

The first bullet was stopped by bullet proof glass. The second bullet, went straight through the crack the first had made and slammed into the driver’s throat. The SUV swerved to its right. Jumped the curb and slammed into the building across the street. Steam rose from its engine. Desolator frowned. He’d hoped this was a kidnapping, but that was seriously an attempt to run him over with Eri in his arms. Were they after him or Eri?

The SUV’s passenger door opened. A man’s head poked out. Desolator’s .45 destroyed his skull.

Eri screamed.

“Be quiet!” Desolator ordered. It didn’t matter who their target was, if they were after him and he stowed Eri away somewhere, she’d be in danger as leverage. If it was Eri… then he was already doing his job.

Eri sobbed. Even a well-trained little girl had her limits. The SUV’s trunk opened a man with a rifle peeked out.

“Dammit.” Desolator hissed as he shot the man in the eye. The man crumpled. Desolator began to backup. He backed away from the SUV. His gun trained on the openings. No-one else peeked. Either they were all dead, or they were too scared to poke their heads out.

Desolator counted heartbeats. It took discipline to stay perfectly in cover when there were no shots flying and from what he’d seen these men didn’t have that. Five heartbeats past. No-one else peeked.

Desolator glanced around. He needed a place to lay low. To contact his employer. It was the middle of the day and with Japan’s work culture, his odds of finding an occupied apartment weren’t great. To his right, he saw an apartment with its lights on. It was the penthouse, ten floors up. Thank God it was cloudy enough for the light to show. It was the only option he saw.

Desolator took off from the SUV at a run. He came to the brown-painted steel apartment building door. He tried it. It was locked. He could hear the screech of more tires some half a kilometer distant. Those were either more assailants or cops… either way he didn’t want to be on the street. He brought his foot back. His prosthetic whined in protest as he slammed it against the door. The door didn’t budge.

Sirens. Sirens sounded over the din. Cops. Great. He tried the door again. It didn’t budge. IF he’d just had his real leg…. Desolator cradled Eri then lowered his shoulder. He felt a bone snap as he slammed into the door with all he was. Mercifully, the door gave way and Desolator made his way inside. He started up the stairs with reckless speed. He heard his foot squeak with every step. Kicking the door had really done a number on his prosthetic. Damn thing.

The apartment’s lobby was spartan for as expensive as the floor-to-ceiling tinted windows made the place seem. The lobby was just a 10 square-meter room. Gold plated elevator doors stood directly in front of the entrance. To the right was a red steel door with a sign that read stairs.

Desolator wouldn’t be caught dead in an elevator in a tactical situation. He ran through the red door and began to book it up the stair well. The stairs were situated in a rectangular pattern. Every two turns would take you to the next flight, every 2 flights was a new floor. In the middle was open air. Looking from the center of the bottom you could see the stairwell’s final flight. Desolator grinned. He couldn’t ask for a more defensible stairwell.

He ran up the stairs until he reached the top floor, his prosthetic squeaking like a whore all the while. Then knocked on the penthouse’s door. A well dressed woman answered the door quickly. She wore a wide smile. She had been expecting someone. She hadn’t been expecting Desolator pointing a gun at her face. Before Desolator could give her an order, she flopped onto the floor, unconscious.

‘A fainter?’ Desolator shrugged. ‘Works.’

He stepped over the woman and made his way into the apartment. It was a gaudy thing. Full of marble, onyx and furs. The couch was ivory colored. Exactly the sort of couch that told Desolator no-one actually lived here. It was a showroom not a home. Desolator put Eri on the abomination of a couch. She looked up at him bleary eyed, but she had enough discipline to not ask questions. He raced back and dragged the fainted woman inside before shutting her door. He turned off all the lights. Even if their assailants on the street found the broken front door, they’d have to clear the floors one-by-one, by that time Desolator would’ve contacted his employer and come up with an exit strategy.

Desolator turned off the final light. He let loose a deep breath. Okay, this should be fine. No-one was on the street. The lights were off. No-one should know he was here. He had a minute.

The sirens came down the street. Desolator went and sat next to Eri. The poor girl was still sobbing. Stressed and terrified, but alive. He looked at the girl. He wished he could be Sam right now. Sam was fantastic with kids. Desolator… wasn’t.

“… Do you want anything?”

Eri shook her head. It was the way kids shook their head when they really did want something but didn’t think they were allowed to be a bother.

“Water?”

Eri nodded. Desolator got up and went to the fridge. His prosthetic squeaked with every step. He hoped it’d hold up long enough to contact Hassaikai-san, he could get it repaired later. Of all the times for the Five to be in Tokyo…. He retrieved a bottle of water from the distressingly barren 50,000 yen fridge. He made his way back over to Eri.

‘This could’ve gone a lot worse--’

“DESOLATOR!!!” A blowhorn sounded from the street below. Desolator closed his eyes and let loose a silent curse. “We know you’re in the penthouse. Release your hostages and come out immediately!”

Desolator handed Eri the bottle of water. She was looking at him wide eyed. He sidled next to the penthouse’s window. He glanced outside, betting they hadn’t had enough time to set up proper sniper positions before announcing their presence. 3 black SAT vans stood outside. A portly man with a dog’s face stood in front of one of the vans, he had blowhorn in his hand and wore a police uniform. SAT personnel milled this way and… no heroes. Strange. IF they knew he was here, there should be heroes. He glanced back at Eri.

Eri was cradling her bottle of water. She hadn’t taken a sip. She was looking at Desolator. If they really were cops, surrendering Eri would be logical… but there was a problem. The van from earlier. They hadn’t exactly been following procedure when they’d tried to run them down.

Desolator looked back out the window. He studied the SAT closer. He hissed. It was subtle, but these men weren’t SAT. They stayed in Desolator’s firing line too long. They STILL hadn’t set up a sniper’s nest. The SUVs’ markings were slightly off. Most damning of all, they saluted the dog-face man in the middle of a tactical situation.

Desolator clicked his teeth. ‘Imposters.’ They had about ten minutes before the real cops caught wind of this… unless they’d coordinated simultaneous calls. In which case… 20, maybe 30 minutes depending on the calls. Up to an hour if people didn’t think to call the cops on the cops and the police didn’t check social media. An hour after the first call if there’d been a large bribe.

Desolator would bet on 10 minutes. His opponent, whomever this dog-faced man was, seemed to agree. He began to order his men into a breaching position on the apartment’s door. Still… how’d they know he was in the penthouse?

Desolator’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Eri’s backpack. He approached the little girl.

“Eri-chan, did Ozawa pack your bag?”

She nodded.

Desolator sighed. Tracking device in the backpack. Keep the tracker in the target’s person rather than the car. Clever.

Desolator glanced around the apartment. Assets. He needed assets. He looked at the stove, if it was gas then he had-- no. Not gas. Electric. Dammit. Microwave… he could do something with that. His eyes fell on a glass door leading out to a large balcony. There, outside, was a grill, a grill that looked propane powered. Desolator smiled. That simplified matters.

“Wilson-san?”

Desolator glanced back at Eri.

“Are those the police?” She asked.

“No.” Desolator answered. “Unfortunately not.”

“Oh…” She accepted that answer with incredible ease. Had this happened to her before?

“Don’t worry.” Desolator comforted. “You’re as safe as you could possibly be.” He lied.

---

Next to a tall brown apartment building five men disguised as a professional SAT team crouched beside a busted open steel door. The fire team was in what could be generously described as a breach position. Only three of them seemed like they knew what they were doing. The other two… were very obviously just thugs dressed in tactical gear. One of these three amateurs was having trouble with his rifle’s receiver.

Tokuda Shiro fussed over his rifle. The damn magazine kept coming out. He slammed his magazine hard against his rifle’s receiver. It didn’t click, but maybe it’d still stay? Tokuda removed his hand, the magazine began to slip. Tokuda stretched forward and snatched the magazine out of the air with a hiss.

“Dammit Toky.” Hissed his compatriot, Jun, his senpai in the Yakuza by about 3 years, slammed his palm into Tokuda’s chest forcing him back into cover.

Toky wheezed as he tried to get his air back.

“The guns are for show, don’t get yourself killed for ‘em.” Jun scolded.

“Damn right.” Ichi whispered from behind Tokuda. He was sitting splay legged on the sidewalk. Hardly ready for a breach. “When we get in there, you use your fucking quirk.”

Toky couldn’t respond he was too busy trying to get air back in his chest. He nodded once. Pinball would be better than him shooting blindly around corners.

Ichi rubbed Toky’s back, helping him to get air back in. “You just focus on hitting the bastard. I’ll cover you.”

---

Jun growled. He hated being reminded he was the only one who’d actually depend his rifle. Alarm Bells was a shitty quirk, hardly worth the paper the classification was printed on. Completely useless in a situation like this. A situation where all he could feel was a constant buzzing in the back of his head telling him what he already knew. It told him Hell was waiting beyond this door.

“Will you amateurs shut the fuck up?” The mercenary on the other side of the broken door snarled.

Jun bristled. The merc was named Malcolm, he was some sort of body enhancer. He wore a bullet proof vest and cradled a shotgun in his arms. The other… he didn’t know her name. She wasn’t looking at the Yakuza, she didn’t have a gun. She only had a single sword, a Chinese Dao.

Jun started to snarl an invective at his nominal allies before hearing the order from his dog-headed superior, Tsuzaka-san.

“Go!” Tsuzaka barked.

---

Without a word, Malcolm burst through the door. Malcolm was a merc, had been for a decade. He’d been lured into the life by promises of riches, booze and beautiful women. He’d gotten a middle class lifestyle, cheap whiskey that burned on the way down and… a beautiful woman.

Malcolm rushed up the stairs with a reckless abandon. Wu, his wife, trailed just steps behind. The Yakuza grunts were feet behind them. Malcolm put the dumbasses out of his mind. He’d much rather be working with other mercs than some trumped up gangsters. They’d be fucking useless here. Especially given who their target was….

Malcolm shook his head, chasing out the instinctive awe he felt when he thought of Desolator. He slid around another corner. He felt Wu’s hand on his back, ready to pull him out of danger. He paid her no mind. They’d done this so often he usually didn’t feel her hand, but through the excitement of who their target actually was?! He could feel her heartbeat through her palm. Were his senses sharpened by anxiety? Or was Wu just as excited as he was? Probably both. They’d both dreamed of this, taking out a big shot, making their name.

Once you had a name, you had it made! Someone like Desolator or Saki didn’t have to work. They could retire anytime. You only needed a name for a few years before you could retire. Before you had the real fuck you money. Then you could just stop, anytime. No-one fucked with you once you had a name.

Malcolm rounded another corner, shotgun pointed at the flight above. He was clearing quickly, maybe quicker than he should. He was sloppy. But could you blame him? He was going to be the bastard to finally take down Desolator! HE was going to have a name. Besides, if he missed anything Wu would--

A hand gripped his collar. Malcolm felt the strength drain from his limbs as he let himself be pulled towards a corner.

“bomb!” Wu screamed in her absurdly quiet voice.

Malcolm didn’t question her warning. He covered his wife with his body and tried to think stubborn thoughts. He shielded her from the coming explosion. The three Yakuza thugs were just behind them. The fools stopped to gawk.

“What the fuc--”

“Cover!” Malcolm yelled. Too late.

A 5 gallon propane tank plummeted down the middle of the stairwell.

“Oh no--” Malcolm pleaded.

BANG

A gun shot was his answer. A bullet, burning like a star, a tracer round, slammed into the propane tank’s nozzle. The explosion wasn’t immediate. Gas hissed as it escaped its tomb.

Malcolm looked at Jun. Jun’s eyes widened. It was too late.

The tracer round ignited the gas and the stairwell was engulfed in flame.

---

Desolator watched the tank ignite. He saw the stairwell get swallowed in a brilliant fireball. He switched his .45’s magazine from his custom AP tracer rounds to High-X rounds. Screams filled the stairwell.

Desolator nodded. Satisfactory. A propane tank explosion could do a lot worse than outright kill. Some of his assailants would have pieces of shrapnel cause them excruciating pain for whatever time they had left on earth. Some would be burned beyond recognition. Some would still be conscious but on fire. Others would, by law of averages, somehow emerge unscathed. Those lucky bastards would be left to deal with screaming and dying comrades.

‘Ding.’ The elevator protested next to the stairwell.

Desolator walked over to the elevator. The ostentatious golden doors were held open with a broom handle laying across its threshold. Inside was a vivisected microwave, hooked up to an external battery with certain household supplies crammed inside it. People really did underestimate what microwaves could do. Desolator removed the broom, pressed popcorn on the microwave and sent the elevator to the first floor.

The doors closed. The elevator began to go down.

Desolator knew no-one would be stupid enough to use an elevator in a tactical situation, but the elevator ought to get to the first floor by the time the dog-faced idiot shouting over the radio for a status report got it in his head to send reinforcements.

Desolator returned to the top of the stairs. He checked his handgun. It was impossible for him to win this battle by killing every opponent. He wasn’t who he once was, but he could do what he always did when outnumbered. He could break them.

Desolator closed his eyes for a moment. He could faintly hear men enter the apartment building. He could hear a man’s voice call for a ‘corpsman,’ military? Could he be an American? He was probably one of the ones on the stairs when the propane tank blew… he wouldn’t be caught by the microwave.

“Hrm.” Desolator hummed. He didn’t consider that there’d be mercenaries among his attackers.

“Complicated.” Desolator had been planning to rush down via repel line during the microwave’s aftermath, but if there were actual soldiers down there they might keep discipline. They might look up.

Ten floors below Desolator, the elevator dinged. Desolator could envision the scene as it unfolded. After the explosion, the dog-faced idiot had ordered a relief team in to extract the injured or take over the objective from them. The relief team entered. They heard calls for a corpsman, approached the door to the stairs at a trot. Then… the elevator dinged. Their squad leader’s instinct would’ve been to get his men into firing positions around the elevator. The elevator would’ve opened. The team held its fire on seeing a microwave sparking. ‘What the fuck?’ One of the team members would’ve whispered. There’d be no way they’d know what they were looking at.

The team hesitates and then--

BOOOOOOOOOOM

An explosion rocked the building. Desolator opened his eyes. What was that now? Probably 4 casualties by the microwave (probably 1 killed but that was hardly relevant) on top of the… 3-4 casualties by the propane tank (maybe 2 killed)? A whole squad down? At the cost of a propane tank, a microwave, and a bullet. Maybe he wasn’t as old as he thought?

Desolator opened his eyes in annoyance. He heard the screams of the wounded… but beneath the din of Hell, he heard orders over their radios, coming from outside. Damn. People were moving. He needed them frozen. The voice giving orders wasn’t the dog-face. It wasn’t the voice from the stairwell either. Damn. There was another merc.

Desolator squatted. Assets. He needed to think assets. He’d already spent the microwave and one of his propane tanks. He could use the second… no. … Wait… there’s no the merc had a sniper’s nest set up yet, not with this much confusion. Desolator smiled. He returned to the penthouse. Their unwilling hostess was sleeping in a closet. Eri was safely ensconsed in an interior bath--Eri peeked out of the penthouses bathroom.

“Back in the tub!” Desolator snapped.

“Eep!” Eri shrieked, then slammed the door shut.

The girl was restless. Desoaltor couldn’t blame her, being told to wait while you heard explosions all around was nerve wracking even for adults. Hell, he was causing the explosions and HE was on edge.

Desolator looked out the window. There was a lot of movement by the vans. A lot of shouting. Civilians were gathering around. The civilians were either NEETs from the building who’d evacuated, or people just getting off work. The crowd wasn’t large. Less than half a dozen. Though that’d grow exponentially in a minute.

The dog-faced man, the one who started this whole mess, was on his knees in the midst of the three false SAT vans. He wasn’t moving. He was catatonic. Good, their leadership was damaged irrevocably. There was a man trying to rein in the chaos. The one who called for a corpsman from the stairwell?

No. Desolator didn’t think so. He thought the man in the stairwell was likely still in the stairwell, a corpsman wouldn’t have gotten to him. Whatever wounded the man had been calling a corpsman for was still wounded. He wouldn’t leave them, at least not so quickly.

Desolator’s eyes narrowed. Whomever the man outside was, he was starting gain control of the reserve squadron that hadn’t entered the building. He was a tall man, probably 2 meters even. The man wasn’t in cover, he couldn’t afford to be. He needed to be seen. He needed to show ‘cool under fire’ in order for the men to accept him as their commander.

Desolator put his hand on the glass. It was safety glass. He’d need an AP round. He switched magazines. He popped the High-X round from the chamber and put it in his pocket. He pointed his .45 at the man taking charge. He just needed to let him simmer a bit more. He needed to let that man become the new leader. The false SAT officers were starting to respond well to the tall man’s orders.

Desolator smiled. He adjusted his aim a little above the man’s head. The slope of the glass would deflect the bullet down…

---

BANG

Malcolm heard a gun shot ring out from above. He ignored it. He was holding his hands over that damn amateur’s-- Jun’s chest. Small fires smoldered around them. Wu went around stamping out any fire that started growing. Blood gushed between Malcolm’s fingertips, a piece of metal, a propane tank’s shrapnel, lay to his side. The shrapnel was bloody. Jun let out a rattle. He stopped breathing.

BANG

“Stay with me!” Malcolm hissed. Jun’s companions were in no condition to help. One, Tokuda, had been badly burned. His face was wrapped in bandages. Wu had given him a cocktail that put him right to sleep. The other, Ichi, had been knocked unconscious by the blast. He didn’t have a visible wound, it was like he’d fainted.

Jun’s eyes were closed. Malcolm couldn’t feel Jun’s heart beat. He could try CPR, but that’d require moving his hands from the gaping wound in the man’s chest. He didn’t think he could give Wu enough space to--

BANG

A small hand rested on Malcolm’s shoulder. He looked up. He saw Wu, unscathed thanks to his enhanced physique shielding her. She shook her head. Jun wasn’t waking up and they wouldn’t come up with anything inside 2 seconds. He was as good as dead.

BANG

Malcolm felt his strength drain from his limbs as he gave up trying to save Jun. He sat on his haunches. He felt the cool air lick his back. His clothes were in tatters from tanking the blast. His ears were still ringing. Desolator had taken them for a ride and they hadn’t even seen the bastard.

BANGBANG

“Damn.” He whispered.

BANG

More gun shots from above. Desolator must’ve moved over to the window. He was probably taking potshots at the guys still on the street. From the screams, Malcolm assumed civilians had crowded the streets. The men on the street didn’t have much of a chance in their position Tsuzaka, that idiot, had thought a sniper’s nest was overkill. He doubted one could be set up under fire, the yakuza weren’t disciplined enough… unless they were given some breathing room.

BANG BANG

Malcolm felt his strength flood his limbs as he grabbed his shotgun. He looked at Wu. Wu nodded before he could say a word. They weren’t getting any backup. They had to press on alone.

“Same as usual bug.” Malcolm joked.

Wu grinned.

BANG

Malcolm charged up the stairs. Wu followed close behind. He didn’t bother clearing the flight above him as he went.

BANG BANG BANG

The steady rain of gunshots from above told Malcolm that Desolator was occupied. Still… this was Desolator. Every time he rounded a corner, he flinched. He expected to see Desolator at any moment. Perhaps the old bastard had a rifle set up on a robotic tripod and was waiting at the top of the stairs. Pistol pointed right at Malcolm’s eye.

Malcolm pushed through the anxiety as he rounded one last corner. The last corner before he reached the top floor! He felt his quirk strengthen as his resolve deepened. He felt Wu labor behind him. She was the only reason he kept going through the fear. IF Desolator was around the corner, she’d grab his collar. She’d yank him back. She’d save his life. All he could do was--

Wait…

When was the last time he’d heard a gunshot?

Malcolm’s thought barely formed as he rounded the last corner. The top of the stairs came into view. There standing at the top, pistol pointed right at Malcolm’s eye, was a living legend.

Desolator looked older than Malcolm thought he would. He’d envisioned a man in his early 60s, not his late 80s. He was taller than Malcolm imagined, he’d thought Desolator a man of average height. He held a propane tank in his left hand. Malcolm bit back a curse. He tried to raise his shotgun.

Too late.

Desolator’s trigger finger began to squeeze, just as Malcolm felt Wu’s hand grab his belt. She yanked him towards her. Malcolm fell on top of Wu. BANG. A tracer round burned white hot as it sailed through the air his eye had just occupied.

Malcolm tried to stand quickly. Wu hugged him tightly.

“no!” She whisper-screamed. Malcolm froze, why would she-- Then, it hit him. Desolator had been holding a propane tank.

On cue steel hit carpet as the tank bounced against the floor behind him. Malcolm squeezed Wu tight. He thought the most stubborn thoughts he had. Of how he’d rip Desolator apart with his bare--

BAN--BOOM

Flame enveloped Malcolm. He felt shrapnel ping against his skin. He curled closer to Wu. Wu was hissing in pain. She couldn’t take this. Even with his body shielding her, flames still licked at her skin. She still burned. He couldn’t cover her well enough. Not when the explosion was this close. She writhed beneath him as the flames past his shoulders. His jaw tightened as he felt her restrain her screams.

‘Dammit. All this for a fucking name?!’ Despite it all, despite her obvious pain. The flames hadn’t even dissipated before Wu shoved Malcolm off of her.

“move!”

Malcolm rolled off his wife as a bullet slammed into his back. He hissed through the pain and heat as he was bathed in fire. He looked up.

There, standing just a few steps above Malcolm’s flight stood Desolator. The flames seemed to wreath him in a flickering somehow harmless embrace. His arm was outstretched. His gun was pointed at Malcolm’s eye. Malcolm could see the bullet resting in the chamber. Desolator’s hand didn’t tremble against the heat, even as the fire gathered around his gun’s barrel.

‘He’s a demon.’ Malcolm realized.

Desolator kept his gun pointed at Malcolm’s eye. Malcolm didn’t move. His quirk failed him. The fire burned through his skin. He was numb to it. He needed resolve, conviction, stubbornness for his quirk to work. He had none of those things right now. What can man do against the demonic? Pray?

Desolator’s finger squeezed. Malcolm couldn’t move. He couldn’t even pray. A blade sliced through the air. Blood blossomed from Desolator’s gun arm. The assassin hissed. His gun went off. Malcolm felt the heat of the tracer caress his cheek as it passed into the wall behind him.

Malcolm blinked. Blood. Desolator was bleeding? Could demons bleed? A sword fell again. Desolator ducked. He fired his pistol. Who was he shooting at?

“mal!” That familiar quiet-scream cut through the air. Wu. Malcolm’s vision widened. He could see his wife. She was dancing among the flames, weaving out of the path of Desolator’s bullets. Lashing out with her sword. Desolator retreated up the steps. They were out of the fire.

Desolator was retreating. Wu was winning--

Desolator ducked a slash. Wu cut for Desolator’s right arm anticipating his retaliation. The assassin’s gun appeared in his left hand. With the speed of a viper he snapped off a shot at Wu’s leg. She wasn’t ready for the abrupt change in speed. For the gun to appear on Desolator’s left. He’d caught her flat-footed. She couldn’t dodge.

Blood and meat exploded from Wu’s leg as Desolator’s round slammed into her inner thigh. She went down with a scream. A real scream from a voice too soft to make that noise. That scream drove Malcolm to finally find his feet. He charged up the stairs. Desolator switched targets. In less than a heartbeat, the gun was pointed at Malcolm’s eye.

Malcolm wasn’t Wu. He was too slow to dodge a bullet. Too impatient to read its trajectory. Too stubborn to change his path. Which is why he married Wu. She was strong where he was weak. She was fast. He was strong. She was adaptive. He was stubborn. He got in over his head. She saved his life.

Lashing out with one last scream, Wu’s blade severed Desolator’s leg. With a scream the assassin fell to the ground. His gun’s report only made a hole in the ceiling. Malcolm was on him. He unleashed himself on Desolator.

Desolator tried to grapple, but Malcolm was too strong. Malcolm felt Desolator’s ribs crack against his fist. Desolator screamed. Desolator went for Malcolm’s eyes. Malcolm ripped off the man’s fingers. Desolator howled. Malcolm felt Desolator’s nose break beneath his forehead. Desolator gasped. Malcolm felt Desolator’s arm shatter beneath his grip. Desolator was silent.

What seemed like hours after Desolator had stopped resisting. Malcolm stood. Desolator was breathing, but it was a quiet rattling breath. The breath of an unconscious defeated foe. Malcolm laughed. He’d won! THEY’D won!

“Wu!” Malcolm turned towards his wife. She wasn’t moving. Unconscious. Malcolm approached her he put a hand on her shoulder. His heart pounded. He was riding a high. Higher than he’d ever been before. They’d done it! They’d made a name. He tried to shake her awake.

“Bug!”

She didn’t move.

“Honey, we did i--” He looked at her leg. His heart stopped. Blood. So much blood. The stairwell seemed to be bathed in his wife’s essence. The gunshot had hit her femoral artery. Saving him… it was all she had left to give. She’d died to do it.

“No.” Malcolm didn’t scream. He didn’t plead. He just whispered a feeble declaration against reality.

Malcolm sat down. He was numb. He didn’t turn his wife over. He couldn’t bear to. He heard Desolator’s breathing change. He felt Desolator reach for his gun.

Malcolm could turn around right now. He could stomp Desolator’s face in. If he did, he wouldn’t let his wife’s death go to waste. He could avenge-- Malcolm reached out. He wrapped his fingers around his wife’s hand. How could he use her death like that? How could he try to win when he’d already lost?

Desolator aimed his pistol at Malcolm’s head. Malcolm closed his eyes. Her hand was still warm.

BANG

---

Desolator coughed blood as he blew the monster of a quirk-user’s head off. His pistol pinged as the man slumped forward over his female companion. It was out of ammo. Dammit.

Desolator blinked through the blood that clouded his vision. He coughed again. He was dying. Desolator knew that with a certainty. He was going to die. This no-name bastard and his partner had killed him. On top of that, there were still 4 of those bastards that had made it into cover before he’d managed to kill them. They’d be coming up the stairs any second…

“Damn.” Desolator moaned. He blinked away tears and blood. This was how it would end?

“Eri.” The job. The job wasn’t done. He left behind his victims. He crawled up the stairs on his elbows a trail of blood marked his passing. He could die later. He had to see to the girl first. Desolator crawled through the door.

“Eri!” He called out. A white-haired little girl with a horn peeked out the bathroom. Desolator expected her to scream at the sight of him. Bloodied and beaten as he was. Didn’t matter, he needed to give her instructions. There was a vent in the back of the apartment, if she waited for the real police--

Eri rushed forward. She was crying. “Wh--”

Eri embraced Desolator. Her actions shocked Desolator. ‘Why?’

“I’m sorry!” Eri shrieked. “I’m really sorry!”

Desolator pulled himself against the wall. He tried to pry Eri off several times, but she didn’t have the inclination and he didn’t have the strength. So she was blaming herself? Stupid kid. It was just a job. Sometimes jobs go wrong.

“Eri, listen to me.”

Eri kept bawling.

“Eri, you have to hide. There’s a vent where I--”

Eri’s only response was to hug Desolator tighter as if her holding on to him would fix it all.

“LISTEN TO ME! YOU HAVE TO GET INTO THE VENT! YOU HAVE TO WAIT FOR THE REAL POLICE TO COME AND RESCUE YOU! AM I CLEAR?!”

Eri didn’t respond. She didn’t move. She couldn’t. It happened sometimes with children. Sometimes when they were hit with enough stress they’d just… lock. An adult’s only recourse was to physically move them at times like this. Desolator didn’t have the strength or time left to do that. He let his head rest against the wall. Not only was he going to die, he was going to die a failure.

“Eri, do whatever they say understood? Survive. No matter what.” He felt Eri nod. She’d listen to that at least. “Good girl.” He pat her head.

He heard footsteps. He flipped his pistol out the door. It was a futile last gesture. He was out of ammo. His vision was dark.

“Sorry, dear.” Desolator whispered. The footsteps were close now. So close. They must be at the door. Eri started to wail. Desolator smiled sadly. “If only I hadn’t gotten so old.”

Eri’s horn glowed.