The holder of the gun glared at the road, listening to the van’s wails diminishing by the second. He should have shot the drivers first. He dislodged the empty clip and kicked it under the dumpster, shoving in a new one. 

“It won’t be like this for long… Eliu… Putra,” a lookout strained, reaching towards his pant leg as his other hand clutched his wound.

Eliu’s brows furrowed, shadowing his loathsome eyes as he kicked off his hand. “What?”

“We Mambas have been around longer than you,” he spat.

His lip curled, crouching down over his body. He pushed his pistol against the man’s hand, where it was covering the hole in his side. “I can take on a dozen of you and you’d still run. You won’t be takin’ my home,” he scowled, the words hushed but stinging as he enunciated.

The man winced as the barrel of his gun pressed into his knuckles. His legs jumped upward, squirming restlessly to push away from the pressure. His body suddenly gave out, the tension easing, his face mindlessly staring back at Eliu. Eliu kept the pistol lingering there, eventually withdrawing it into his holster. 

His death should’ve been a lot slower…

He stood up and stepped over the body, swooping Reoni up and laying him on the backseat of his motorcycle. A glittering light announced itself behind their backs, the bike’s metallic shine illuminating the apricot wrap. He looked behind, squinting at the source—Another van had crept up on them.

He mounted his seat and set off into the intersection, relying on the sidewalks to intervene in active traffic. The van followed suit, and soon, more crowded the lanes and caused near accidents to keep up. 

Eliu hoisted Reoni’s arms over his shoulders, clutching his wrists with one hand during jarring turns to prevent him from flying off. He muttered curses under his breath that were hardly audible from the flapping of the wind. The Edogawa haze mixed with the blurry lights of cars, which evolved into streaks of red and white when he whizzed past. 

The vans lost the chase within minutes. With the recent hurricanes, the city was wet for days on end, and oversteering severely impaired the heavy and likely decade old vehicles. Eliu assumed that much. They spun into signs or ditches like old dogs, incapable of getting back up, and gave what Eliu thought was a victory. But in the corner of his eyes from his rear view lens, a belligerent mass of green clouded the mirror. The fluttering engine on par to his neared him, matched the speed of his bike to their own, and gravitated towards him.

“The hell!” Eliu yelled, swiveling his handlebars to the right and hastily accelerating. Were they suicidal?!

He jumbled with his phone whilst he had an open lane in front of him. He could easily lose them if he drove off-road, owning an ATV bike for the very reason of escorting, but it was too risky with an unconscious passenger. Therefore, something else was needed. He had dialed for his brother—the leader of their gang—Kijuro Adachi.

“Speaking.”

“Being stalked,” Eliu said, huffing. “Can you pick me up immediately?”

“Gotcha, stay tight,” he answered and got off the phone. Within the same minute, he forwarded a message to the managers that patrolled Sailand Lagoon recruiting for backup. Of course Eliu wasn’t being picked up, but that was the code they used to request for backup during escort missions—the addition of ‘immediately’ meant they were armed. 

Kijuro pushed himself away from the desk, parting from his chair, and strode towards the large paneled windows that extruded from the walls, complete with a cushioned bench cradled in the center. Along with a hefty sigh, he sat on the firm cushion, planting his head against the glass. His vision unfocused while he stared at the raindrops splattering on the surface, sticking out from the lake backyard that laid under the abyss. 

What was Reoni feeling right now? He’s a long time friend—and yet a bystander, who often wound up in their business. He peered at his tinted phone, displaying the messages from Reoni as if he was going to hear back from him just then. But the only text that appeared from half an hour ago was a coded plea for help: the letter X. 

There was no telling what happened to Reoni at work, but he told himself that he would know soon. No matter how wild and flaky his brother behaved, he always took family situations seriously. After all, temperamental people have some of the biggest hearts.

He slipped off the cushion with a stretch of the arms and shut his laptop. As he met the door, the sound of pop music grew more apparent, and he softly twisted the knob to limit his noise. The narrow hallway opened up to his left, where a railing replaced half of the room in order to look over the living room. He leaned over the railing to find Kip and Bul, his two best friends since sophomore year, dancing in front of the mirror that took up an entire wall. It was a Korean duet song that they were learning the choreography to, and the only reason Kijuro had known that was due to Bul always playing it in the car.