...
I open my eyes to an indescribable discomfort.
I am in a temporary cell used to keep the prisoners in the war.
Originally, it must have been a simple nap room inside the bunker to protect yourself from air strikes and such. The room is about the size of a hotel room, with only a rusty bed frame fixed to the end. The entrance door has been replaced by an iron door with fresh welding marks, and there is a thick chain used for boat anchoring and a huge lock hanging from the doorknob. A number of black power lines are wrapped around the hooks lining up on the wall, leading to the murky cage lamp at the back of the room. That is the only light source. There is no air conditioning, so the air in the room is unclean.
And I am being locked up in the middle of that room. There is no sound, except for the melancholic buzzing from the lights. The gloomy time is passing by me, wearing a gloomy expression.
I finally realize where that feeling of discomfort comes from. It is too quiet. It has been almost two hours without me hearing anyone's footsteps, or anyone's voices. There is no sign left of the hostile and conciliatory atmosphere I felt when I first came here. I stand up and put my ears to the entrance door. Still no sign of anyone.
That is when I cannot help but noticing a fact. A fact that puts my mind in confusion. How am I supposed to interpret this situation?
The lock on the door has been broken.
I poke the chain. It makes a rattling noise and falls to the ground. Same goes with the lock that ties it to the front door. As I turn the knob and push it, the iron creaks as if it is protesting, before it slowly opens.
I indulge myself in thoughts for a while. Just because the door is open does not mean that I have to leave the room. I can also wait here. However, what am I supposed to wait for in that case? For the next chance to be hurt? Or perhaps, a chance to give the guys who have abducted and kept me here a speech, to appreciate their hard work?
In the end, I decide to go out. My two hands are still cuffed but it doesn't hinder my movement at all.
The underground bunker is long and intricate, like the inside of an unknown underworld creature.
I find my way through the dimly lit corridor. Occasionally, black insects would scurry away near my hands. I can hear the sound of water dripping somewhere.
A wind is blowing inside the shelter. It is a cold and moist wind that smells depressing like someone's breath.
I thought I was getting lost. But I am not. I have found a sign.
That is a huge arrow, drawn messily on the ground where the route parts. I walk up to it and try touching it with my hand. That is blood. Someone has drawn that arrow by blood, so big that no one can miss it. The blood hasn't dried yet. It has not been there for that long.
Looking in that direction, I immediately understand the meaning of that arrow. Someone is lying over there.
I rush over to the person, thinking they might not be alive anymore.
He is lying on his side. I can tell his two hands have been messed up even before I am able to get close. His skin is peeling off, exposing the flesh beneath. The skin from the elbows to the wrists, on the backs and the palms of his hands are torn off as if they have been clamped by something. However, the other parts of his arms are almost intact. I wonder what kind of attack he has got to end up in this condition.
There are huge holes on both of his feet that pierce through his shoes. The holes go all the way to the soles, where it is still bleeding a little bit. I am shocked.
Dead bodies do not bleed. The fact that he is bleeding means that the man is still alive.
I flip him over. I remember that face. He is one of the cops who attacked my house, the younger one. And now he is collapsing here.
"Wake up. Who did this to you?"
As I tap his cheek, the young cop slightly opens his eyes.
His face is pale as if all the blood has drained off, but he finally manages to focus his gaze. That gaze catches me. It takes him a few more seconds to understand the meaning of what he is seeing.
"Stop it!"
The cop suddenly pushes me and retreats to roll. Taking short and fast breath, he desperately tries to run away on those limbs that are no longer acting on his will.
"Hey, wait!"
"Don't come any closer! Please stop! I beg you!"
"Wait! Calm down! I am not going to hurt you" I approach and grab him by the shoulder.
I brush aside his raging, resisting arms, and stare into his eyes, "Who did this to you? This is your hideout, isn't it? What happened to the others?"
The cop finally regains some of his sense. His eyes gradually come into focus and move quickly from side to side, trying to grasp the situation around him.
"Where... Where is that guy? Isn't he your friend?"
"That guy?"
I follow the cop's eyes and check around. But nobody is there.
This is a big storage room. It used to be a huge space for storing water and food for evacuation. Now it is just a huge empty space with nothing stored inside. The pillars that are too big for a single person to hold, are lining up like lifeless ancient soldiers.
"He... he said... that there is no escape." The cop speaks in an exaggerated, flat voice, as if he is delirious due to a fever. "He also said, if I don't want everyone here to be killed, I have to tell him where the painting is."
"Everyone?"
I look around. There is no one here. "Where are the other guys?"
The cop shakes his head in fear. Then he points his finger to the back of the room.
I stand up and look. It is only darkness over there. At the end of the dim light is an exit connecting to a corridor, which is submerged in an even deeper darkness.
I walk to that direction. I have a premonition.
As I reach the end of that corridor, I light a match to sweep off the darkness. Before I can even see the floor, I already understand what is there.
A man is lying face down as if he is drowning in a pool of blood. His arms stretch out powerlessly, and he lies in the puddle of blood as if he is taking a nap on top of a cloud. Behind him, there is another one. This one is curving up in the shape of the number nine, folding his two arms in. I can smell more blood in the darkness beyond that.
I have a hunch.
Could it be... that everyone in this underground hideout has been taken down?
I approach a man near me and check his pulse. He is alive, even though it does not look much like that from the amount of blood loss. He is breathing faintly. I observe him. His whole body has been cut dozens of times by a sharp blade. However, the cuts are perpendicular to the blood vessels. When you cut it that way, it will reduce the bleeding relatively quickly. The bleeding areas were also carefully selected to avoid the arteries. It reminds me of an artwork created by a top painter. Delivering pain through thoroughly calculated moves, to prevent the person from dying. He didn't stay alive. He was kept alive. A first-class work. By someone from the dark side of the world who possesses a different set of skills from mine.
These guys must have been prepared for violence and attacks. So, for them to be easily devoured like this, not to mention be tortured in such a way that they couldn't die, what kind of attackers could that be? And what is their purpose?
The cop just now was threatened that everyone would be killed if he didn't tell the whereabouts of the painting. In other words, the one who tortured him wants the information I have about the painting. It means he is my enemy.
Suddenly, I feel like someone who get lost in the freezing cold weather at the top of a mountain, with only his underwear on. Having nothing to cover for myself, nor a way to escape. Far beyond the pale darkness, a mysterious monster is waiting to tear me into pieces.
I quickly make my way back. I will ask the still conscious cop for directions and get out of here. That way, the torturer who is targeting me may leave here too, sparing these dying people.
However, before I can get back to the cop, the whole tunnel shakes.
A shock, followed by a rumble. I can't stand straight, so I have to hold on to the wall. As far as my eyes can see, the concrete is shaking and starts falling off into pieces.
"It... started." I hear a voice. That is from the young cop I just met. I turn to him.
The cop is shivering. Those eyes look like they know for sure the world is coming to an end. I help him stand up. He starts ranting like a sick man with a high fever, without looking at anywhere.
"They are coming. They are coming. We are all gonna be killed. He uses fear. He uses your imagination. No one can win against their own imagination. He is going to siege all the exits and burn us to death."
"Hey. Get yourself together! Who is he? What is going to happen now?"
The cop looks at me. The light in his eyes is pale and white, the light of fear that has swollen from his depth, to the point that it is almost transmitted to me.
"He is from Port Mafia."
Port Mafia.
I am not so ignorant that I don't understand the meaning of those words.
They are like the night wind that flows through the darkest parts of this city. They will follow you wherever you go in the darkness and rip off your throat with those fangs. The Apostles of Death that no living things can resist. And they are coming this way.
Another sound of raid. The place shudders like the internal organs of a giant creature in convulsion, cracks running across the wall. Apparently, we don't have as much time as I thought.
"So, it is like this." I say to the cop. "Soon enough this place will be surrounded, and the Port Mafia will come and kill all of us. However, if I spit out the whereabouts of the painting, everyone will be saved."
"I... I think so." The cop replies with a pale face. "It's not like that guy wants to take anyone's life. To him, our lives are worth less than the weeds out there... I beg you. Please save me. I will leave this organization. No matter how much I can earn from crimes, I don't want to be in the same world with that monster anymore. So, please help me. I don't want to die just yet."
I look at that young cop. He is frightened from the bottom of his heart. The fear has overshadowed his personality, transforming him from a full-grown man into a life form that only knows how to tremble.
Beyond the light of his eyes, I can see the guy. The guy who controls fear. The devil of Port Mafia. He is manipulating the cop by a thread of fear and speaking to me.
_Give me the painting._
"I refuse." I start speaking. "First, I can't stand the way he tries to subdue others with violence. Second, that painting is not mine. It belongs to someone else. It is not something I can freely use to trade for my life. Third, that painting does not hold that much of a value anymore. It is probably not even worth fifty thousand yen, let alone five hundred million. Even if I give them the painting, I don't think those guys will let us go."
"Still! If you don't give them the painting, everyone will be killed now..."
"Forth." I cut off the cop's sentence. "They will not kill me. Even under this circumstance. Because I am the only one who knows where the painting is. Port Mafia may surround this area and kill everyone here. But they will have to keep me alive. Because that information exists only in my head. However, if I tell you where the painting is now, the secret will no longer be mine only, and my life's value will drop. Then it will become a matter of luck whether Port Mafia will let me live or not."
"You... what are you talking about?" the man's voice almost becomes a scream. "Then what about me? What will happen to us?"
"You are criminals." I speak in a suppressed tone. "Even if you are going to be shallowed up by a more sinister organization, it is just the law of nature."
"You...!"
The cop, still lying down, quickly pulls out a hidden gun. He points it at me.
I take one step back and observe the gun. That is a black, 9mm automatic pistol. The muzzle is firmly pointed at me. As it is an automatic gun, there is no need to cock it. Even with an injured arm, he can probably fire one shot with no problem.
"Didn't you hear what I said?" I put my hands up and say. "If I die, the information will be lost. There is no point to threaten me with a gun."
"Yeah, that's right. That's why you are saying things all high and mighty like that." There is the color of obsessive desperation in his eyes. "You think that you are the only one to secure a safe place for yourself. I hate that. On the other hand, what about me? I am gonna die for sure. Whether you say anything or not. If it is going down that way, then I will shoot you right here to lighten up my mood a little before I die. How about that? Can you still say such privileged thing?"
In silence, I look down at the man, at the desperation, at the screaming and pleading of a human wishing to live. He will really shoot me. Without a doubt. It is absolutely as certain as how the dawn will come as long as you wait.
"Now, speak."
"All right." I hear myself saying. "If you are that determined, I have no choice but to speak. I don't think anything will change if you know though... The wealthy man who owned that painting was killed seven years ago, by my hand. That was my last job."
And then, I start telling my story, bit by bit.
...
