The Sweeper Greets Good Morning

Morning, the next day.

Kuroiwa marched into the familiar darkened courtyard of Shiyuri’s apartment complex. Once again, the crowds of old people shot him deathly glares, but he knew better now. These aren’t simply skeptical elderly who were wary of the presence of a man at Shiyuri’s side. No—they were there, ratting out Nekolain from the start. When they found or why they decided to report a neighbor was none of the Sweeper’s concern.

Strapped to Kuroiwa’s back was a standard pump-action shotgun whose design had not changed over the years he had been asleep. On his hip was one 9mm pistol, and in his jacket was his usual six-chambered revolver. On his torso was light kevlar armor, courtesy of his short working stint with Sei. And lastly, the metal sheen on his arm formed from countless nano-spiderbots gleamed in the meager amount of sunlight that came in through the gaps in the buildings.

Through the evenly spread crowd of elderly, he looked up and eyed the location he was certain Shiyuri’s room was in. The objective. Chigusa had uploaded an application on his phone: a direct line to Shiyuri’s. All he needed to do was clear the way.

He stared back onto the crowd of old people at the courtyard. He counted one. Then two. Three, four, five. And more. Eight people spread throughout the courtyard, of which was littered with all sorts of small abandoned store stalls and piles of junk. Perfect for finding cover. He thought to use some, just in case.

They stared straight back at him. They began gritting their teeth, and their expressions darkened, further shadowed by the sunlight from above. These men and women—they looked intent to kill. They are no frail old people. This is not a normal neighborhood.

He took a step forward, expression full-on stoic.

“Good morning.”

An old man in a plaid polo stripped his shirt, unveiling a hollowed torso made of nothing but boomstick barrels. He fired upon Kuroiwa. He then ducked behind a fallen table, fending the rounds off. With a sharp crack, the table began to chip as the old man continued to unload countless rounds onto his cover.

A bullet whizzed past his head, as a woman who looked to be in her late 50s shot him with a wooden hunting rifle. Kuroiwa flinched and rolled to the side, then getting onto his feed and dashed to the side into an abandoned hotdog stall. The gunfire didn’t cease as every other second was a mad dash to move from cover to cover.

No, can’t kill them…

He drew the shotgun from his back and pumped it. He noticed both the man and the woman repositioning for a better spot. He analyzed the area to see what he could use to neutralize them. And then it came to him.

Kuroiwa fired upon a hanging truck tire’s rope, cutting it and plunging the tire down. It rolled towards the old man and, in an attempt to evade it, slipped and broke his knee.

One down.

Second one. The lady from above was still struggling to spot Kuroiwa. He took the chance and fired upon a potted plant above her. He aimed true. He shot a round onto the cord holding it up, sending it plummeting on the lady. It slammed onto her head onto the railing, knocking her out, at least temporarily.

Two down.

Kuroiwa closed his eyes and tried to take a peek at the situation with his Hypersense.

Most of the elderly have scampered across the apartment complex. At least half stayed in their homes—these ones had nothing to do with this entire debacle. The rest, however, seemed to march into secluded places, waiting for an ambush.

He then heard the clinging of bells.

From the kitchen complex, an old lady on a unicycle rode out like a bat out of hell, carrying a tray of sharpened kitchen knives. She chucked them at Kuroiwa’s hiding place like a circus performer; each piece of cutlery lodging itself directly on the stall’s wooden walls.

Where the hell are these geriatrics learning this shit?!

Kuroiwa peeked from above the stall, aiming his shotgun at the lady. He then pointed slightly down, right at the unicycle’s tires. The lady tossed one at Kuroiwa. He nudged his head to the side and quickly retaliated. His shotgun blew with a loud boom, then his shot punched a hole onto the bike. She quickly lost control and careened into a suspiciously-stacked pyramid pile of canned dog food.

Three down.

He ducked under the stall again, grasping the revolver from within his coat. He didn’t have complete agency over his hand yet; his practice just earlier this morning showed he couldn’t pull off a perfect ricochet just yet.

Kuroiwa whispered to his phone. “Chigusa, now! While everyone’s still hidden!”

Chigusa rushed in from the apartment complex’s entranceway, and she went up to the unconscious bodies of Kuroiwa’s assailants, holding their hand and zapping them with a strong current of electricity. They convulsed in response before quickly falling asleep, assumingly for an hour or two at least. She sprinted to Kuroiwa’s location and also ducked under cover, sticking to him shoulder-to-shoulder.

“How’d it go?” asked Kuroiwa.

“I stunned them like you asked me to,” Chigusa answered, brandishing a spark of electricity emerging from her finger. “It should knock them out for an hour or so like you were.”

“Nice one. Thanks.”

Kuroiwa loaded a few shells into his shotgun and pumped it, sounding with a satisfying click. “There’s still at least five more hiding out. I can’t pinpoint them, but you should find cover while I move in.”

Chigusa clasped her hands and put it to her chest.

“So you really aren’t killing them…”

“Of course. Consider it a favor for Mr. Shinada. And also, at least you won’t have to defend me in court for ‘mass murder’.”

“But I’m not a Lawyer.”

Kuroiwa chuckled as he clutched the shotgun close to him. “That’s fine. I’d rather you rush to Point C than see you defending me in court.”

“Oh! It’s about time, then?”

“Yeah, let’s!”

Kuroiwa hopped to his feet and dashed through the courtyard in the direction of the stairs Shiyuri took them up. Chigusa followed closely behind, before ducking into one of the vacant apartment rooms just off to the side. As Kuroiwa crossed from the ruined stall the next, he catches a glimpse of an old lady, whose face he’s definitely seen before. He hugged the wall made of ruined appliance scrap and peeked behind.

He realized who it was: That lady customer from way back when, back in the convenience store.

“What a nasty gentleman you are.”, she said in an angry, creaky voice like nails on a chalkboard.

Her chest cavity then sank into itself with tendrils the shape of shark teeth, revealing an over from within. It glowed an intense red, blurring the air in front of her into a haze. A burst of flame rushed from within her oven-chest. Kuroiwa hid behind the wall, but its heat singed the side of his hair. The flame was hot enough that he felt that if he had taken it head on, he’d be reduced to mere cinders.

The flames kept bursting forth from beyond cover. Kuroiwa needed to think fast or risk melting from something akin to the heat of the sun.

A can from that pyramid pile of dog food rolled into view.

Ah.

Kuroiwa grabbed the can and waited for that brief second the lady’s flame would cease. When it did, he emerged from the cover and dove to the side while tossing the can into the lady’s chest cavity.

Another blast of heat exited the lady’s chest. A few seconds passed, then another. And then a moment passed. The can began to melt, but at the same time, sparks started to fly out from said contraption. With one last blast of flame, a small explosion blew from within, knocking the woman on her butt. She lay there dumbfounded.

Kuroiwa signaled Chigusa with a wave of the hand. She tossed him her detached hand and he caught it with perfect precision, its fingertip still sparking with its stun function.

He then darted beside the lady and stuck the taser into her wrist. She writhed in silent agony before finally falling unconscious. Kuroiwa gave Chigusa a thumbs up, and her detached hand did the same. Freaking out a little, he quickly tossed the hand back at her. Chigusa simply laughed.

Four down.

The stairs up were finally in sight. He thought they could make one mad dash up and get some heat off their back.

But it wasn’t to be.

A balding man in a bulky-looking steel wheelchair sporting a chonmage rolled up at the center of the courtyard, emerging from nowhere. Though unassuming at first, Kuroiwa sensed something off about him. That faint smell of gunpowder not coming from his gun nor the destruction the battle has caused so far.

The man pressed a button on the wheelchair’s handle. From the metal plating behind it, two missile pods burst forth and aimed in Kuroiwa’s direction.

“You have got to be shi—”

Smoke exhausted from the pods, as small missiles launched forth with a deafening roar. Kuroiwa retreated from his hiding spot and ran into the interior halls of the apartment, away from the stairs. The missiles exploded in a blaze of glory, its force and shockwave sending shards of rock flying all over the place. The man in the wheelchair spun from the shockwave’s force alone, causing him to lose track of the Sweeper.

The man pushed another button on the other handle. A blast of air from a canister propels the wheelchair a few meters into air in the same way a VTOL aircraft hovers above the ground. He looked around, peering through the smoke and rubble in search of his prey.

Kuroiwa then emerged from the smoke, leaving trails of dust in his wake. He aimed faster than the older man could track him, and fired a few rounds of 9mm shots into the wheelchair’s air canisters.

The wheelchair wobbled and the man riding held on for dear life, as the contraption lost control and began to fly up, down, left, and right. His machine finally betrayed him, as its flight path got it caught in a tangle of electrical wires suspended just a few meters off the ground. He flipped over and slid out of the wheelchair. Seeing this, Chigusa ran at inhuman speed towards the man, catching him in her arms before any serious injury.

“I’m so sorry, sir.”

With a flick of her finger at his forehand, a stunning current of electricity coursed through his circuits, disabling him and sending him to a dreamland for a good while. Kuroiwa nodded at her from the other side of the building and signaled at her to follow him. They ran into the stairwell and made their way up before anyone else would come out to stop them.

Five down.

*****

Murai looked down from the fourth floor around where Shiyuri’s room roughly was located. He watched as Kuroiwa and his partner surgically took down their assailants. Beside him was Sei, who had a pleasant smile on just watching her past co-worker do impressive work.

“Kuroiwa really is a tenacious one, isn’t he?”

Sei giggled. “I did not expect any less from Ser Kuroiwa himself.”

He eyed her suspiciously, as if he were accusing someone of a heinous crime.

“Did you really make sure you gave him a serious disadvantage?”

“Whatever could you mean, Ser Murai?”

“...Never mind.”

Murai’s eyes shone with a vengeful glint. He then marched off, holding a single standard 9mm pistol strapped to his belt. He shoved a spare gun of the same kind at Sei as he made his way down the hall.

“Where are you going?” asked Sei.

“I’m rounding up what remains of the Old Agents. You stay there and keep watch for Nekolain. She has to come out sometime.”

Sei stared at the 9mm with confusion, and looked right back at the distant Murai as he went down the stairwell. She giggled and tossed the pistol aside.

“There is no need for this.”

*****

Kuroiwa and Chigusa ran up to the third floor, after finding out someone just had to collapse that particular set of stairs leading to the fourth floor. Odd, he thought. It must have been Sei’s doing.

A man yelled a deep baritone as he emerged from behind a ruined door, swinging a glowing blade radiating a crimson red. Kuroiwa stepped back and Chigusa darted into one of the other vacant rooms, simultaneously unfolding her mallet. He stood off with the man who looked to be near his eighties but none the worse for wear, as he brandished what looked to be a sword made of pure light energy with shocking agility.

“Really? You have lightsabers?”

The armed man lunged at Kuroiwa and delivered a flurry of blows at him. Kuroiwa hopped backward and to the side, desperately trying to avoid even the slightest nick from the blade. When it inched closed to his hands and face, he felt an intense, searing heat from its glow.

But even amidst the man’s tiger-like ferocity, the Sweeper could see where the weakness lies: The man, fast as he was, took time to rewind himself after his third strike.

Kuroiwa baited out his next strike. He stepped to the side and stood, waiting for the next. The man swung again, and he evaded backwards once more. Third strike, Kuroiwa lunged forward and away from the man’s attack. The man stumbled and struggled to recover. He then tackled him and staggered him. The man stepped back to regain his composure, but his face said all Kuroiwa needed to know. He was confused, but also frustrated.

The swordsman swung at him with fervor. Kuroiwa stepped back again, the saber cutting a small fabric of his sleeve.

This is expensive, damn it!

Kuroiwa ducked as the man swung to the side, and he swept the man off his feet with a well-placed kick. The man fell on his hip and back, and rolled on the floor grasping his lower body in agony, moaning and yelling.

“Ow, my hip…!”

Kuroiwa kicked the blade down the hallway’s balcony overlooking the courtyard, and after a few seconds, the blade fizzled out. He intended to call Chigusa out, but the man had fallen to a deep sleep by himself.

Nevermind.

Six down.

Kuroiwa’s senses tingled. He dove behind a pile of boxes on instinct. From down the hall, a hail of bullets stormed straight where Kuroiwa once was. He peeked from behind the tower of boxes and checked out who his current attackers were.

Murai. And one man in his late 50s with white hair, and one woman in her seventies with shriveled skin, both of which wielded gatling guns half their size.

“You really couldn’t stay away, could you, Kuroiwa?”, hollered the frustrated Murai. “I wish you had that much persistence getting a girl at the bar.”

“Dude, not cool. That’s a low blow.”

“What ever could compel you to risk your neck for a terrorist like Nekolain? You’re a good man. I can’t even wager a guess as to what you’re thinking.”

Kuroiwa checked his shotgun’s ammo while giving his response.

“I can’t tell you that. You just have to trust me that I’m not doing anything bad.”

“What, and stop me from apprehending Nekolain?”

“On that note, what’s a Lawyer like you doing a cop’s job?”

Murai curled his hand into a fist. It shook with anger; his rage was overflowing, and yet he wanted to keep his cool in front of somebody he still considered a friend despite it all.

“That’s… that’s none of your business.”

Kuroiwa chuckled, pumping his shotgun. “Then fair’s fair, right? You lay off my biz, and I lay off yours.”

“Our goals are contradictory, I’m afraid.”

Kuroiwa dashed to the side, aiming right at the shoulder of the man with the machine gun. Like a flash, he fired on him and instantly disarmed him. He cried out in pain and fell to the ground. Seven down. He pumped the gun and aimed at the woman. She wound up the gatling, its barrels growing hot, whirring as it spun—too late. Kuroiwa took another shot, firing at her shoulder and quickly disarming her. She, too, howled, grasping her shoulder as she and her weapon dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

Eight down.

Murai drew his pistol and opened fire on Kuroiwa. He then tossed the shotgun in an effort to block his bullets. Its bulky body blocked critical shots, but some still nicked his legs and arms, gashing them with cuts. A bullet also struck his chest—the kevlar blocked it, but the blunt force still causing Kuroiwa to seethe in pain.

Kuroiwa endured the pain and jumped off the balcony, then held on to a thin pole, using his momentum to spin, then land back onto the hallway. He drew his pistol and shot at Murai. The Lawyer stepped back and ducked for cover as a full round of gunfire greeted him so ever courteously. Kuroiwa then landed onto the pavement and immediately dashed towards Murai in a zig-zag fashion. Murai couldn’t land a single shot at him as he approached with ferocious speed. Kuroiwa then bashed Murai’s gun-toting arm and sent his pistol flying off the third floor.

Murai howled as his arm burned with pain. He wrangled Kuroiwa’s left arm and flipped him on his back, slamming him into the pavement. The Sweeper, however, remained undeterred, teeth grit as Murai’s android strength twisted his arm into a knot.

He pulled Murai with his other arm and tackled him down. Murai tugged Kuroiwa, but not before he could slam him down to the floor as well. Kuroiwa kicked the man back, his momentum allowing him to roll and recover back to a standing pose. Murai did the same.

Kuroiwa stretched his left arm. “Not bad. You’re not a trained fighter and yet here you are.”

“And you’re a trained fighter not decisively beating one.”

“Lay off. I’m at least two evolutionary steps down from you.”

That was when Kuroiwa noticed a shadow creeping up behind Murai.

A large metal hammer slogged Murai from behind, forcing him on his knees, a comical pained expression crossing his face. His eyes spun and his vision blurred, a current of electricity then running down his spine and shocking him. Murai’s hair stood on end as he wordlessly suffered the might of lightning coursing through his veins.

Murai fell to the floor, unconscious.

“Did I do well, Kuroiwa?”

“Oh, yeah, thanks for the assist, Chigusa.”

Kuroiwa inspected Murai’s unconscious body. He had the urge to kick it lightly to deliver a cheesy one-liner, but he knew when to not kick a man when he’s down. Literally and figuratively.

“Next drink’s on me, friend.”

Chigusa tased the rest of the bodies who had not been sent to a slumber yet just to make sure they don’t get back up in an inopportune time.

“That’s done and done. Is that all the threats so far?”

Kuroiwa planted a finger on his temple and listened to his surroundings carefully. No movement except one on the fourth floor. Heavyset footsteps. Authoritative gait. And possibly the breath of a woman longing for battle.

“There’s one left.”

“Ah, then we should—”

Kuroiwa shot Chigusa a serious, foreboding stare.

“Stay here and hide. It’s something I need to handle myself.”

“But why?” asked Chigusa, her eyes furrowed and lips curled into a concerned frown. “If there’s only one left, then we can just… you know.”

“Sorry. It might be a bloodbath, and I don’t want you there to see it.”

Chigusa looked down, deep in thought. A figurative lightbulb lit in her head, realizing what Kuroiwa might be referring to. She stepped back and nodded.

“It’s Sei, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”