The night air in Tawaji hung heavy and stagnant, filled with the distant hum of traffic and the occasional burst of laughter from far-off alleyways. The streetlights cast long, jagged shadows over the cracked pavement, and the smell of rain still lingered from the afternoon downpour. It was the kind of night where anything could happen — and Hal had the sinking feeling that it would.
"We're moving out," Hal texted, there was an underlying tension that OctoMan didn't miss. "Be ready. This could get ugly."
OctoMan's hand tightened around the device, his tentacles flexing slightly as his mind raced. He knew he should relay the message — should tell the others, should tell Pollen — but he didn't. If Pollen knew how dangerous this was getting, he'd shut the whole thing down. And they couldn't afford that.
"Understood," OctoMan replied after a pause, keeping it neutral.
In the dim light of the safehouse, Myco raised an eyebrow. "What's up?"
"Nothing," OctoMan lied. "Just stay ready."
-
Blondie's car stank.
It wasn't just the stale cigarette smoke, though that was part of it. There was a deeper, more pungent scent — sweat, alcohol, and something sour and unmistakable. The battered old coupe creaked as Blondie shifted gears, his hands drumming on the steering wheel with restless energy.
"Hell of a night," Blondie said, his voice a lazy drawl. "Hope you two are ready to make some noise."
In the backseat, Hal forced himself to stay calm, his eyes flicking to Germination beside him. She sat with her arms crossed, trying to look relaxed, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her.
Blondie reached into the glove compartment, pulling out a battered pack of cigarettes. He shook it, the last few sticks rattling, and offered them over his shoulder.
"C'mon," he said. "One for the road."
Big Heart, riding shotgun, took one without hesitation, snatching the lighter as well. He lit up with a satisfied sigh, the orange ember glowing in the dark.
Hal hesitated, then took one. He needed to fit in.
When Germination took hers, Hal noticed the way she handled it — a little too careful, a little too curious. She was trying to act natural, but the hesitation was obvious.
"Light 'em up," Big Heart said, grinning as he passed the lighter back.
Hal lit his first, the sharp scent filling his lungs as he tried not to cough. When he leaned over to light Germination's, their eyes met for a second longer than necessary. The flicker of the lighter cast their faces in warm, shifting light.
She took a drag, and immediately choked, doubling over in a fit of coughing.
Big Heart roared with laughter, slapping his knee. "Damn, girl! You sure you're cut out for this?"
Blondie's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, watching them with a strange, assessing look. The suspicion was subtle, but it was there — and that was dangerous.
"Under the seat," Blondie said, his voice suddenly serious.
Germination, still coughing, blinked. "Wh-what?"
"Under your seat," he repeated. "Hand me my baby."
She reached down, fingers brushing against cold steel. When she pulled it out, her breath caught.
The shotgun was compact — dangerously so. Sawed-off, heavy, and brutal. The kind of weapon you didn't carry unless you were planning on using it.
"Ain't she pretty?" Big Heart whistled, taking it from her hands and checking the load with practiced ease. "Yup. We're gonna have some fun tonight."
He handed it off to Blondie, who rested it across his lap like it belonged there.
Hal's mouth went dry.
"Almost there," Blondie muttered, eyes narrowing as the car slowed.
The street they turned onto was a narrow, dimly lit strip lined with old buildings and sagging fences. Weeds pushed through cracks in the pavement, and graffiti marked the walls in colorful, angry slashes. The whole place felt like it was waiting for something to happen.
Blondie killed the engine.
"Showtime," he said, opening the door and stepping out.
Hal felt his pulse quicken as Big Heart followed, and Germination, not wanting to look weak, opened her door as well. She reached for her power instinctively, and the air around her shifted as thin, sharp thorns began to sprout along the edge of the car's hood.
Across the street, three figures waited.
Kaoru and Riku stood where they always did — but tonight, they weren't alone.
Hisori was there too.
The moment Blondie raised his weapon, the tension snapped. Hisori's hand went to his revolver.
For a heartbeat, they stared each other down. And then the world exploded.
The first gunshot split the night like thunder.
Blondie's shotgun barked, the blast ripping through the still air. Hisori dove aside, the pellets tearing into the wall behind him in a spray of dust and splinters. Kaoru and Riku broke into a sprint, their footsteps slapping against the cracked pavement as they bolted toward the alley.
"I´ll cover you!" Hisori shouted, his voice tight with pain as he fired back. The revolver's shots rang out in rapid succession, the muzzle flashes lighting up his determined face. Hal ducked, dragging Germination down with him behind the battered coupe.
"Shit!" Hal hissed, his heart pounding against his ribs.
Big Heart cackled like a man possessed, returning fire with wild enthusiasm. The shots were reckless, bullets ricocheting off the asphalt and punching into walls with sharp, ugly sounds.
"Stay down!" Hal barked at Germination, his mind racing. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. It was spiraling out of control, fast.
But Germination wasn't listening.
Her breath came in short, rapid bursts, her fingers digging into the pavement as green tendrils snaked out from her hair. The thorny vines slithered forward, coiling around the tires of the car and anchoring them in place.
"Stop that," Hal hissed, grabbing her wrist. "You're gonna blow your cover!"
"I—" She swallowed hard, eyes wide and glassy. "I can't just sit here!"
"You can and you will!" Hal snapped, his grip tightening. "Let them handle it!"
Across the street, Blondie advanced with terrifying calm. The sawed-off shotgun rested easily in his hands, his steps measured and sure. Hisori popped up from behind a rusted dumpster, firing off two quick shots — but Blondie was already moving, weaving around the bullets with a predator's grace.
"Where you runnin', Hisori?" Blondie taunted, his voice singsong and light. "Ain't you tired of runnin' yet?"
"Go to hell!" Hisori snarled, squeezing off another round.
The shot went wide.
"Missed me," Blondie sang, his finger tightening on the trigger.
"Hey!" Hal's voice cracked across the street, desperate. "We're supposed to—"
BOOM.
The shotgun roared again.
Hisori's scream was sharp and ragged as he went down hard, clutching his leg. Blood spread quickly beneath him, dark and slick on the pavement. Kaoru and Riku drag him into an alleyway, Hisori fires his last shots before running out of bullets and disappearing into the shadows of the alleys with his boys.
- A few moments before
The air inside the van was thick with anticipation. OctoMan sat in the driver's seat, one of his tentacles rhythmically tapping against the steering wheel. Myco lounged in the back, arms crossed and foot bouncing impatiently, while Umbra stared out the window, his eyes half-lidded but alert. The only one who seemed entirely unfazed was the uniformed officer sitting beside OctoMan — a grizzled man with a sharp, watchful gaze and the bored air of someone who'd seen too much.
"They should've called by now," Myco muttered.
"It's fine," OctoMan said, though his tone lacked conviction.
"Is it?" Myco pressed, her dark eyes narrowing. "We knew this was gonna get messy. Hal said—"
"In this area," the officer cut in, his voice calm and flat, "crimes take a while to get reported. Either your boy's fine, or he's dead. Or maybe they found him out. Wouldn't be the first time an undercover got burned."
Umbra's hand twitched toward his side, where his shadow shifted restlessly.
OctoMan didn't answer. He stared at his communicator, willing it to light up.
BZZT.
The officer's radio crackled. "Shots fired at Kichiro and Shimanami! Multiple suspects, heavy fire!"
The tension shattered.
"Move!" OctoMan barked.
The van lurched forward, tires squealing as they tore down the street. Myco braced herself against the wall, her hair already beginning to shimmer with faintly glowing spores.
"You think it's them?" Umbra asked, his voice tight.
"We'll find out soon enough," OctoMan growled.
As they rounded the corner, the scene came into focus fast and ugly.
Blondie and Hal were in the middle of the street, faces inches apart, shouting. Big Heart was halfway out of the passenger window of their battered coupe, his gun waving wildly as he scanned the approaching figures.
And then Blondie saw them.
"Cops!" he hissed, spinning toward the car. "Get in the damn car!"
"Wait—" Hal started, but Big Heart didn't wait.
The barrel of his pistol swung up.
"Down!" the officer barked, already moving.
The first shot cracked through the night, and the street exploded into chaos.
The officer returned fire immediately, his service weapon barking as he took cover behind the van. Bullets sparked off the pavement, and Myco dove out of the van's side door, rolling into a crouch. Her hair flared as she released a cloud of thick, luminescent spores that drifted toward the enemy.
"Keep your heads down!" OctoMan shouted, his tentacles unfurling.
Big Heart's shots grew wilder as the spores reached him — his vision blurred, his breathing grew ragged, and his finger jerked on the trigger.
Umbra grunted as one of those blind shots found its mark.
He staggered back, clutching his stomach. Blood seeped through his fingers.
"Umbra!" Myco's voice rose in alarm.
"I'm—fine," he bit out, his face pale. His shadow lashed out, stretching toward the car. The darkness coiled and struck — and the front tire burst with a sharp, echoing POP.
"Get us out of here!" Blondie roared, dragging Hal toward the car.
"No!" Hal twisted away, his eyes darting toward Germination.
But she was already moving.
Her foot slammed into the ground, and the earth answered.
Vines erupted, thick and thorned, racing across the pavement and up into the air. They coiled together in a massive, writhing shield — and then surged forward.
"Get down!" OctoMan shouted.
The wall of thorns slammed into him, the impact sending him skidding backward. But the vines kept growing, wrapping around him, forming a protective barrier even as bullets tore into them.
"Go!" Blondie shouted.
The car peeled out, sparks showering from the shredded tire. The engine screamed, and they were gone, vanishing into the night.
The street fell into silence, broken only by the officer's ragged breathing and the faint rustle of dying vines.
"Hero down," the cop's voice crackled through the radio. "Suspects fleeing eastbound. Need immediate backup."
But there would be no pursuit.
The heroes had been outgunned.
And the night wasn't over yet.