On 15th December 2041, 11:20 am, the office was a sepulchre of power—dark mahogany walls lined with dust-laden accolades, the air dense with the scent of stale ink and wilting chrysanthemums. A vase of red and white blooms stood stiff on the desk, their petals brittle, untouched by the pale winter light that slipped weakly through the shuttered blinds.
Mr. Amou Rumi sat like a statue behind his desk, fingers interlaced in a skeletal steeple, his knuckles white—not from the cold, but something far colder. His breath misted faintly in the frigid air, his expression hewn from ice.
Then—a knock.
"Come in."
His voice sliced through the silence—a winter blade, calm and cold.
The door eased open. Katoge entered with deliberate steps—his presence sharp-edged, shoulders squared, his eyes alert.
"Sir. You called for me?"
Mr. Amou released a slow, deliberate sigh—not weary, but calculating, as though purging smoke before revealing flame.
"Katoge. You're familiar with the ironworks?"
Katoge straightened. "The Shimiru Iron Factory?"
"Yes."
Mr. Amou's gaze darkened like a storm cloud settling.
"It's been shut down."
A beat. Katoge felt the world constrict around him.
"What? How? Who—?"
"The SSCBF."
Amou's hands clenched, just slightly.
"Allegations surfaced. Rumours of screams—heard echoing through the facility. They've found nothing concrete yet—no evidence, no witnesses. But they're probing."
Katoge's breath caught in his throat.
Visions flared behind his eyes: enforcement raids, cold cells, the Amigu-Rumi name dragged through the sewer of public trial.
"If they uncover the truth—"
"They won't."
Amou's voice was velvet over steel.
"There were no cameras. No eyes. No mouths left to speak."
Katoge's restraint frayed. "But the bodies, sir... we buried them there!"
"Mr. Amou leaned back ever so slightly, the leather of his chair groaning beneath his composed frame. His hands, still interlaced, rested atop the desk like a lattice of bone. His expression bore the tranquil menace of a man accustomed to making fatal decisions with a whisper.
"We have no choice but to remain calm, composed... and on high alert," he intoned, his voice low and glacial. "The SSCBF must not unravel the truth. So far, the informant has remained silent."
His gaze narrowed to a sliver, studying the curling frost upon the vase of chrysanthemums—a withering omen.
Katoge bowed his head sharply. "Yes, sir."
He stepped back, a soldier's discipline veiling the churn of unease beneath his ribs. "With your permission, I shall take my leave."
Mr. Amou gave a small nod, his hands resettling with the weight of unspoken calculation. Katoge turned on his heel, exiting with measured strides.
But in the corridor, the mask cracked.
His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he muttered beneath his breath, "Why don't we just strike first? SSCBF may be vast, but even giants fall... Yet if we touch them, the Crimson Lotus will descend. Madam Di-Xian… and that beast…"
He swallowed hard, the image of Agent-90's lifeless eyes and blood-soaked efficiency flashing through his thoughts like a guillotine.
"But as the boss said—no evidence. No eyes. No ears."
He glanced over his shoulder, distrust lingering in his furrowed brow.
"Unless… there's more we don't know…"
As he reached the living room, the murmuring din fell to a hush. Several Amigu-Rumi lieutenants were huddled before the flickering light of the television.
On screen, a grave-faced reporter stood at the gates of the Shimiru Iron Factory, the Hakanai District skyline looming grey behind her like a row of tombstones.
> "—graphic discoveries have been made at the now-defunct industrial facility. Law enforcement were called to the scene following a string of anonymous tips. What they uncovered has left the Hakanai District reeling—multiple dismembered bodies, brutally disposed of, buried beneath the forge grounds. Authorities confirm no leads, no surveillance, no witnesses... and no identified suspects at this time. But the investigation is now being overseen directly by the SSCBF."
Katoge froze. His spine turned to ice.
A bottle smashed.
Noda surged to his feet, eyes ablaze with disbelief and rage. He hurled the glass against the wall, where it shattered like his composure.
"How the bloody hell did this happen?! And the SSCBF—how did they catch wind of it?!"
Across the room, Wanaka, sat cross-legged with his katana balanced across his knees. He calmly wiped the blade with a silk cloth, his tone as casual as a man discussing weather.
"Perhaps… someone fancied playing the canary," he said, not looking up.
Katoge remained silent, but his mind was roaring.
Something had shifted.
And the storm had only begun.
"Or it must be one of us who did this!" Noda snapped, the room falling silent. He turned to Katoge, pointing a needle at his eye. "So, Katoge, it must be you!"
"No, I didn't!" Katoge protested.
"Noda, stop messing with him. He's the lieutenant of our boss," Kudo Samagachi interjected, leaning against the wall with arms crossed. "At least we cannot do!"
Kudo turned to Katoge. "What did the boss say?"
"He said we have no choice but to remain calm and composed. Be on high alert; the SSCBF must not figure out our involvement. At least the informant remains silent," Katoge replied.
"Our boss is patient and calm in this situation," Kudo responded.
Kudo Samagachi, an SS-Rank member of the Amou-Rumi clan, had served Mr. Amou since their twenties. He had also worked for Mr. Amou's father, the former boss, and remained one of the family's most loyal men.
Suddenly, Harai burst into the room, gasping for air.
"Why are you running? Did you see a ghost?!" Kazuki asked.
"Bad!" Harai panted.
"What happened?" Kudo inquired.
Katoge sensed something was wrong.
"Kobayashi and Kayashi got into a fight with some delinquents," Harai explained.
Their eyes widened in shock.
Kobayashi Hiroki, another S-Rank member of the Amou-Rumi family, was known for using his knife to twist his victims to death. Kayashi Hideaki, an A-Rank member, had weaker skills but could sense where enemies would attack from.
At that moment, Kobayashi and Kayashi entered the mansion. Noda grabbed Kobayashi's collar.
"Hey, you know what you've done? Where are the delinquents? Did you kill them?"
"Yes," Kobayashi replied casually. "They tried to mess with us, so we messed with them!"
"You know the news, don't you?" Noda asked, his rage palpable.
Kayashi smirked. "Who cares? If the SSCBF finds out about the factory, we'll find another way out."
He approached Katoge. "Katoge will handle it for us."
"Why is it always me?" Katoge protested.
"Because you're the lieutenant of our boss," Kayashi retorted.
Katoge's eyes narrowed, his gaze deadly.
"Fine. Where are the bodies?"
"They're in the trunk of the car," Kobayashi said. "Good luck!" The two turned and left.
Katoge sighed. "What am I going to do?"
Kudo approached. "I know a place to dispose of the bodies. Come with me."
Noda smirked, sharpening his pin needles. "You never leave a mess, do you, Kudo-san?"
Kudo glanced back. "Clean hands, clean conscience."
Wanaka nodded in agreement.
"Alright, boys, let's go," Kudo commanded.
Evening had draped itself over the land like a worn leather coat, the sun retreating behind skeletal rooftops. Sparse streetlights flickered in the distance, and the wind whispered through the cracks in the derelict structures nearby. The Sonagachi Fish Factory, nestled between overgrown lots and rusted fencing, loomed like a forgotten relic—abandoned by the world but not by purpose.
Katoge shifted uneasily behind the wheel as the car slowed in front of the corrugated shutter door.
"Kudo… are you absolutely sure about this place?" he asked, his tone low, eyes scanning the area with growing suspicion.
Kudo Samagachi, lighting a cigarette with his usual indifference, exhaled a plume of smoke and replied, "Yeah. I'm sure. This place hasn't been touched in years—perfect for what we need."
His voice was as calm as a surgeon's hand before the first incision.
With a sharp rattle, Kudo pulled up the rolling shutter. The metallic groan echoed, swallowed by the evening silence. As the lights flickered to life inside, the factory revealed itself in stages.
Rust-stained concrete floors slick with years of brine. Rows of gutted metal worktables lined the walls, yellowed industrial light fixtures buzzing above like dormant wasps. A faint stench of salt, decay, and time clung to every surface.
Piles of broken crates and nets lay in the corners. Old conveyor belts stretched like forgotten veins, still and dust-laden. It felt like the skeleton of a once-living beast.
"Follow me," Kudo said, already marching ahead with his cigarette between two fingers, the embers glowing like a trailing fuse.
Katoge and Harai, both gripping the heavy tarp-wrapped bodies, exchanged a brief glance—one of resigned understanding. Harai's brow was furrowed, his knuckles bone-white around the handles. Katoge exhaled sharply, then moved forward in step.
Kudo led them past a rusting freezer unit into the farthest corner of the building. He stopped before a reinforced metal door with a coded latch. He keyed in a passphrase, and with a pneumatic hiss, the door creaked open.
Inside, the temperature dropped instantly—below freezing, bitter and absolute. Frost clung to every wall like creeping ivy. Metal shelves lined the space, most empty, save for a few nameless crates already coated in ice.
"Welcome to the deep chill," Kudo muttered. "Storage for the unsalvageable."
Katoge shivered as the cold hit his skin like needles. "Hell of a place to keep corpses."
"It's not hell," Kudo said flatly, "It's limbo. They'll never be found here."
The three of them moved swiftly, placing the bodies on separate racks in silence. The only sounds were the hum of the freezer coils and the soft rustle of tarp. The stillness was suffocating, like a confession left unheard.
As they stepped back, Katoge looked at the motionless forms, his breath misting in the frigid air.
"I don't know what scares me more," he muttered, "the fact that we're doing this… or how easy it's becoming."
Kudo gave him a sidelong glance, flicked ash into a nearby bin, and replied, "You're learning, lieutenant. In this world, sentiment is a liability."
Harai remained quiet, eyes distant.
They stepped out of the freezer and sealed the door behind them. The factory lights buzzed softly above, bathing them in flickering gold.
"Come," said Kudo, brushing frost from his coat, "let's get out before the cold remembers we were here."
"Put the bodies inside," Kudo ordered, his voice devoid of emotion—cold, clipped, clinical.
Harai hesitated, his throat bobbing in a hard swallow. The pallor in his face spoke volumes. Katoge stood motionless for a heartbeat, brow furrowed, his breath visibly misting in the chilled air. The unnatural stillness of the freezer gnawed at his nerves.
But they obeyed.
Together, they hefted the tarp-wrapped corpses onto the steel racks, the sound of shifting weight echoing through the icy chamber like a quiet verdict.
Once the last body was placed, Kudo turned on his heel and muttered, "We'll return tomorrow. Let them freeze solid."
Harai rubbed his arms as the frost crept into his bones. "And… what if the police catch wind of this? What if they come sniffing around tonight?"
Kudo, already lighting another cigarette with deliberate calm, exhaled a thin stream of smoke and said with quiet assurance, "They won't. I've accounted for everything. The plan's airtight."
He glanced over his shoulder at the sealed freezer door, then back to them, eyes unreadable behind a veil of smoke.
"Trust me. No one stumbles into this place by accident."
Katoge and Harai exchanged a look—uncertain, tense. But they said nothing more. The unspoken truth lingered in the freezing air: the deeper they went, the harder it would be to come back.
On 16th December 2041, 11:30 AM Kudo led Katoge and Harai through the facility, their footsteps echoing in the vast, empty space. They approached the freezing room, a large chamber maintained at sub-zero temperatures. As Kudo opened the heavy door, a plume of icy air escaped, momentarily fogging their vision.
"Retrieve the bodies," Kudo instructed, his tone devoid of emotion.
Harai hesitated, his face pale as he stepped into the freezing room. Katoge followed, his expression stoic but his eyes betraying a flicker of unease. They carefully lifted the frozen corpses, their limbs rigid, and carried them to the processing area.
In the cutting room, the hum of machinery filled the air. Kudo activated a large fish cutting machine, its blades whirring to life. He began feeding the bodies into the machine, the sound of slicing flesh intermingling with the mechanical rhythm.
Katoge and Harai watched in silence, their faces a mix of horror and resignation. The processed remains were then transferred to a massive meat grinder, reducing them to an unrecognizable pulp.
Later, under the cover of dusk, the trio transported the containers to a secluded dock. They boarded a small boat, navigating to deeper waters. There, Kudo methodically emptied the contents into the sea, the mixture dispersing into the dark waters.
As the boat groaned back toward the dock, silence clung to the three men like oil.
The sky above the harbour was a sickly grey, smeared with the colour of old bruises. Gulls circled above, oblivious to the ritual just committed beneath them.
Katoge stood near the bow, arms folded tightly, the salt-laden wind tousling his grey-white hair. His jaw clenched. Beside him, Harai sat hunched, elbows on knees, his face pale, eyes staring into the water where the remains had vanished.
Kudo, on the other hand, lit a cigarette with practised indifference, exhaling smoke as if it were a sigh. His expression was unreadable—stone carved beneath a veil of calm.
Katoge finally broke the silence. "I knew you were cold, Kudo-san… but this…"
His voice was low, edged with disbelief. "You fed them to the sea."
Harai spoke next, his voice tight and hoarse. "That wasn't disposal. That was… desecration."
Kudo didn't look at either of them. He took another slow drag and flicked the ash overboard.
"They were meat the moment they stepped over the line," he said quietly. "Boss said clean it up. I cleaned it up."
Katoge turned to him, his expression hardening. "You cut them like fish, Kudo. Like it was nothing."
Kudo met his gaze, eyes glinting with a darkness not born of cruelty, but conviction. "You boys still think this life's got poetry in it. Honour. Glory." He scoffed, then leaned forward, his voice lowering. "Outlaws like us—we're not heroes. We're cleaners. Scavengers. And when the blood gets too loud, we make it quiet."
Harai looked away, as though nauseated by the truth.
Katoge didn't speak again. He just stared at the water, lips pressed into a grim line, wondering if there was a point where the soul simply stopped feeling.