The image burned itself onto the backs of Samantha's eyelids.
It was a mosaic of agony, rendered in cheap, compressed pixels. Ren, her brother, her protector, her steadfast anchor in a world that had always tried to drown her, was bound and broken. A grotesque parody of the person he was, sculpted from bruised flesh and crimson stains. His swollen, shut eye was a plum-colored monstrosity, the gash on his lip a weeping red canyon.
The air didn't just leave Samantha's lungs; it was punched out. For a single, frozen second, there was only a cavernous, screaming void where her thoughts should have been. Then, something else flooded in. Not sorrow. Not even fear, though its icy talons were clawing at her throat.
It was rage.
It was a wave of black, burning ice, a silent, volcanic eruption that vaporized all other emotions. Her vision sharpened, the vibrant, chaotic street scene of Shibuya dissolving into a stark, colorless backdrop for her single-minded purpose.
"I'm going to fucking kill them," she snarled. The words weren't hers. They were ripped from a primal, predatory part of her soul she never knew existed, a low, guttural growl that felt like scraping bone against stone.
"No, no, no, Samantha, you can't!" Mochi zipped frantically around her head, its blue light a beacon of pure terror. "It's a trap! That's what I felt! This isn't just about Ren; they used him to lure you here! You have to call the police, get help—"
"Help won't be fast enough," Samantha spat, the words like shards of glass. She was already moving, breaking into a sprint that was less a run and more of a controlled fall. Every muscle, still aching from her workout, screamed in protest, but the black fire in her veins was a more potent fuel than any adrenaline. "They'll finish him. They'll kill him while we wait. That's not happening."
"But it's suicide! They're ready for you! You're playing their game!"
"Fuck their game," she hissed, weaving through the bewildered pedestrians, a wraith of single-minded fury. "They hurt my brother. They're going to bleed."
The Fuchu warehouse district was a graveyard of industry, skeletal husks of buildings silhouetted against a bruised, dying sky. The air here was different, thick and heavy, reeking of rust, damp rot, and the brackish despair of forgotten places. Pier 4 loomed ahead, a colossal, derelict monster, its windows like shattered, vacant eyes.
Samantha didn't slow down. She slammed her shoulder into the groaning, rusted side door, the metal shriek of protest a fitting anthem for her arrival. The sound was swallowed instantly by the oppressive, cavernous silence within.
The warehouse was a gaping maw of darkness. Thin, silvery fingers of moonlight pierced through shattered skylights, illuminating swirling motes of dust and casting long, grotesque shadows that writhed and danced like mocking specters. The stench was a physical assault—damp concrete, rat droppings, the acrid bite of stale urine, and underneath it all, a faint, coppery tang of old blood, sickeningly sweet.
"Ren-nii!" Her voice cracked, raw with fear and fury, echoing through the vast, empty space. "Ren-nii, where are you?!"
The only answer was the drip, drip, drip of water from a leaky pipe, each drop a tiny hammer blow against the anvil of her skull.
"Samantha, be careful!" Mochi's voice was a trembling whisper, its light a feeble, nervous orb bobbing in the oppressive dark. "My readings… the energy here is malevolent. It's thick. It's hungry."
Samantha ignored it. She moved deeper into the cavern, her new combat instincts firing on all cylinders. Her body was a coiled spring, every nerve ending screaming. The silence was the enemy, a living thing that promised violence from every shadowed corner.
"REN-ONII CHANNN!" she screamed, her voice stronger this time, a desperate, defiant roar against the dark.
A voice, thick with malice and smug amusement, slithered from the deepest shadows to her right. "Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Right on schedule."
Samantha whirled around, her heart trying to hammer its way out of her ribcage. Three figures materialized from the darkness. They were high school students, dressed in the uniforms of a rival school known for its delinquents, but they carried themselves with the predatory confidence of hyenas circling a kill. Their faces were obscured, but their presence radiated a palpable aura of cheap cologne, cigarettes, and casual cruelty.
"Where is he?" Samantha demanded, her voice shaking but firm, a low, dangerous growl. "Where the fuck is my brother?"
The figure in the middle chuckled, a dry, rasping sound that sent shivers of revulsion down her spine. "Impatient, aren't we? Your brother is right over there. Our guest of honor."
He gestured with a lazy thumb towards a far corner of the warehouse. Samantha strained her eyes, peering into the gloom.
And then she saw him.
A wave of nausea so powerful it nearly brought her to her knees washed over her. Ren was slumped in a rusted metal chair, his head lolling to one side. Even in the dim light, she could see the state of him—the twisted ruin of his face, the dark, wet patches soaking his uniform. He wasn't moving.
"Ren-nii!" she cried, the sound a strangled sob of relief that he was there, immediately consumed by a tidal wave of murderous rage at what had been done to him.
Just then, the central figure stepped into a sliver of moonlight, and a sickening bolt of recognition shot through Samantha. She knew him. It was Saito Kenji, a third-year student infamous at Jounan High. She'd heard his name whispered in the hallways, always linked to stories that made her skin crawl—rumors of his 'club,' of girls being cornered, harassed, and worse. His eyes, small and reptilian, gleamed with a sickening, possessive hunger as they roved over her.
"You," she hissed, the single word dripping with a venom that surprised even her. "You did this to him."
"That's right, Kisaragi-chan," Kenji sneered, his voice an oily, mocking caress that made her want to vomit. "All for you. And now, you're next."
Samantha's hand instinctively went to her pocket, her fingers closing around her phone. Her thumb slid over the emergency call button.
Kenji laughed, a harsh, guttural sound. "Don't even think about it. We have a signal jammer. No one is coming to save you." His leer intensified, a vile, appraising look that stripped her bare. "And we're not just going to 'touch' you, pretty thing. Someone important wants you. Very badly. But he's a generous man. He's agreed to let us have a little… fun… with you first. As a reward for a job well done. Let's just say… my boys and I have some very specific tastes."
Her stomach churned with a vile, acidic terror. This wasn't about a ransom, or a mysterious client. The rumors were true. They were animals. They were going to hurt her. They were going to use her.
Then, Ren stirred. A low groan escaped his bruised, split lips. He lifted his head, a monumental effort. He blinked his one good eye, focusing on her, and even through the haze of pain, his expression was one of fierce, desperate protectiveness.
"S-Sam… antha…" he croaked, his voice a ragged, blood-flecked whisper. "…run."
"No!" she screamed, tears of rage and fear finally breaking free, streaming down her face. "I'm not leaving you!"
"You… don't… understand…" Ren gasped, each word a visible torment. "The target… it's you. It's always… been you. Just go… Please!"
"She's not going anywhere," Kenji sneered, enjoying the spectacle with sadistic relish.
A surge of defiant, desperate energy pulsed through Ren's battered body. With a raw-throated yell that was pure, big-brother fury, he shouted, "You cowardly fucks! You had to drug me with gas just to get me here! If you touch a single hair on her head… if you even try to harass her… I will kill every last one of you! I swear it!"
For his defiance, the thug on the right stepped forward and delivered a vicious, open-handed slap across Ren's face. The sound was like a whip-crack, sharp and obscene, echoing through the cavernous space. Ren's head snapped to the side, a spray of blood and spit arcing through the dim light.
"Don't you dare touch him!" Samantha roared, a primal scream ripped from her very soul.
"Oh, we already did," Kenji purred, his voice low and suggestive. "But don't you worry your pretty little head. We were… gentle. Mostly. We need him conscious for what comes next. He's going to have a front-row seat for your little initiation party."
That was it. The last thread of Samantha's sanity snapped.
She charged.
Her body, imbued with newfound power, shot forward, a blur of motion fueled by incandescent rage. She wasn't thinking. There was no strategy. There was only the singular, all-consuming need to rip Kenji's leering face apart with her bare hands.
He and his thugs laughed, sidestepping her clumsy, rage-filled lunge with practiced ease. This was part of their game—let the prey exhaust itself, break its spirit before they moved in for the final, brutal act.
Samantha skidded to a halt beside Ren's chair, her hands trembling as she fumbled with the thick, coarse ropes binding his wrists. "Ren… Nii-san… I'm here. I'm gonna get you out."
"Samantha… don't…" he whispered, his one good eye pleading with her.
Suddenly, Kenji was there, stepping out of the shadows. In his hand was a thick, folded cloth. Even from a few feet away, Samantha could smell the pungent, sickly-sweet chemical odor. Chloroform.
"Time for a nap, little bitch," he hissed.
He lunged for her face, but Ren, with a final, explosive burst of adrenaline, shot his legs out, kicking Kenji hard in the side of the knee. There was a wet, sickening pop. Kenji howled, a high, pained shriek, and stumbled back, dropping the cloth as his leg buckled.
"Don't you… FUCKING… TOUCH HER!" Ren roared.
The other two thugs surged forward, their faces contorted with rage. "You little piece of shit!" one of them bellowed. "You're gonna regret that!"
They descended on Ren. It was no longer a beating; it was a demolition. A fist, a brutish knot of knuckles, connected with Ren's ribs with a deep, wet thud. Another kick, the steel toe of a boot slamming into his already-injured leg, elicited a choked, agonized scream. Samantha saw one of the thugs grab Ren by the hair, yanking his head back and smashing it into the metal frame of the chair with a horrifying crack.
"STOP IT! STOP IT!" Samantha screamed, her voice hoarse and cracking, tears blinding her as she tried to pull them off, but they shoved her away with contemptuous ease, sending her sprawling onto the gritty concrete floor.
The sounds. The wet thuds of fists on flesh. The sharp crack of bone. The hoarse, wet gasps of her brother trying to breathe through his own blood. It was a symphony of brutal, horrifying violence, and she was forced to listen to every note.
"Samantha… run…" Ren managed to gurgle, his voice now a broken, bloody whisper.
Just then, as she pushed herself to her knees, helpless and broken, a final, blinding light flashed in her mind.
A blood-red notification, more urgent and terrifying than any before.
[!! IMMINENT HOST FAILURE DETECTED !!]
[PENALTY FOR MISSION FAILURE HAS BEEN ESCALATED!]
[Main Mission #2: Save Your Older Brother]
[Difficulty: ★★★★★ (EXTREME)]
[Time Limit: 00:10:00]
[Reward: UNKNOWN]
[Penalty for Failure: DEATH & VIOLATION]
Death and Violation.
The words weren't a threat. They were a prophecy. A declaration of what was about to happen. They weren't just going to kill Ren. They were going to kill her. But not before…
No.
The supernova of fear in her chest didn't vanish. It imploded. It collapsed in on itself, becoming a singularity, a point of infinite density, infinite coldness, infinite rage.
The tears on her cheeks stopped flowing. The shaking in her body ceased. The frantic, screaming panic in her mind went utterly silent.
She pushed herself to her feet, her movements no longer frantic or clumsy, but slow, deliberate, imbued with a chilling, preternatural grace. The thugs, finished with their work on Ren's now-limp form, turned to her, their faces flushed with sadistic exertion, their lips curled into triumphant, predatory smiles.
She looked at them. And for the first time, she truly saw them. Not as high school bullies. Not as terrifying monsters.
She saw them as meat.
"I'm not running," she said. Her voice was unrecognizable, a low, dangerous, toneless whisper that seemed to absorb the very light from the room.
Her eyes, once filled with terror, now burned with a cold, dead, starless light.
"I'm going to fucking kill every single one of you."