August 9th, 2025
Near the South Carolina local airport - 7:08 PM
The hum of the private jet cut through the night sky like a blade. Outside, the horizon of South Carolina sprawled below, a glittering scatter of lights breaking the endless darkness. Inside, the air was heavier, thick with anticipation, violence, and something unspoken.
Lionel sat apart, back against the plush leather seat, one arm resting against the polished mahogany paneling. His Glock spun lazily in his hand, index finger tracing the trigger guard with the casual ease of a man who had lived too long with death.
His gaze was fixed out the window, where the faint reflection of his own face stared back at him in the glass. For a fleeting moment, he almost looked like a shadow himself.
The pilot's voice cracked over the intercom:
"Boss, we'll be touching down in fifteen."
Lionel inhaled deeply and exhaled through his nose, slow, deliberate. He holstered the pistol and stood, smoothing down his black suit jacket, adjusting his cufflinks as though stepping onto a stage.
Behind him, Daigo leaned forward, hunched over his weapon of choice - a dented metal bat, polished along its sweet spot from years of carnage. His grin was stretched wide, teeth flashing as he ran his palm along the steel like it was a lover.
Around him, five killers, men and women - each handpicked killers, silent and efficient - checked their tools: a pair of silenced pistols, a combat knife with a serrated edge, a folding shotgun, and a garrote wire that gleamed under the dim cabin light. Each movement was ritual, methodical, and oddly reverent.
On the opposite side, Kira Tachibana sat with one leg crossed over the other, her thumb flicking lazily across her phone screen.
The glow lit up her sharp features, her black hair spilling down her shoulders like liquid ink. Her expression was bored, detached - until Daigo's voice broke the quiet.
"Look at us," Daigo chuckled, his voice gravelly, dripping arrogance. "Badass motherfuckers, every one of us. But seriously…" His eyes flicked toward Kira, then narrowed. "Why the hell is the little princess here? What is this, bring-your-kid-to-work night?"
Kira didn't lift her eyes from her phone, but her lips curved into a thin, cruel smile.
"You'd be lost the second you step off this plane without me," she murmured, still scrolling. "Face it, Daigo - you'd confuse a street corner for an exit sign."
The five killers chuckled under their breath. Daigo's grin faltered, his pride pricked, but he masked it by biting into his lower lip and leaning back in his seat.
"Tch. Running your mouth, huh?" Daigo muttered, gripping his bat tighter. "Careful, brat. One day, someone might shut it for you."
That earned her full attention. Kira finally looked up, eyes flashing, her voice cutting sharp as glass.
"Better dogs know when to bark - and when to heel."
The air in the cabin tightened like a noose. Daigo's jaw flexed, his grin twitching wider as if he thrived on the tension. But before the exchange could sharpen further, Lionel's voice cut through, smooth and cold.
"Enough."
His tone wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. Authority dripped from every syllable. Slowly, he turned his head toward Kira, his gaze unreadable.
"Where first?"
Kira smirked again, as if the fight hadn't stirred her at all. She set her phone down on her lap, folding her arms.
"An orphanage," she said confidently.
The words landed heavy in the air.
Daigo blinked, then let out a harsh laugh. "Orphanage? What the fuck are you talking about? We're supposed to be hunting, not babysitting."
Before he could continue, Kira leaned forward, her voice sharp enough to draw blood.
"Shut up and do what you're told. Or sit there and wag your tail until we need you."
Daigo snarled under his breath, but Lionel's glare pinned him to silence.
"Good," Lionel said softly. His gaze shifted back to the killers, each one raising their heads to listen. "Listen carefully. Ian Everhart is the priority. He's mine. Alive."
The emphasis was sharp, deliberate.
"But if he has family… friends… anyone who shields him?" Lionel's jaw tightened, his words turning to venom. "Kill them all. No hesitation. No mercy."
The five killers nodded in unison, silent shadows awaiting the order to strike.
Lionel adjusted his cuffs again, impatience simmering in his voice. "We end this quickly. I have… other matters to deal with."
The plane began its descent, turbulence rattling the glasses in their holders. The city below loomed closer.
The jet taxied to a secluded hangar away from prying eyes, its engines roaring down to silence. Rain had begun to fall, sheets of it cascading across the tarmac, blurring the neon lights of the airport.
"Alright," Lionel muttered as he stepped toward the exit ramp. "Kira."
Kira was already on her feet, sliding her phone into her coat pocket. A smirk tugged at her lips.
"Leave it to me."
The plan was simple but daring. Their weapons - normally impossible to smuggle - had been carefully hidden inside diplomatic crates marked with Tachibana-Kawasaki Global seals.
Kira had orchestrated it in advance, leveraging the corporation's influence. To the customs officers, the crates were nothing but "essential company assets," accompanied by signed clearance papers forged so cleanly they glistened with legitimacy.
But getting the weapons through was only the first step. Moving people was trickier.
Inside the customs hall, fluorescent lights hummed above, sterile and harsh. The few officers on duty glanced at the group as they approached - Lionel in his tailored suit, Daigo swaggering with that damned bat disguised as "sports equipment," the killers silent, and Kira leading with her sharp confidence.
"Papers," one of the officers muttered.
Kira produced them instantly, her smile polite, almost disarming. "We're corporate. Tachibana-Kawasaki delegation. Our flight came in late from Tokyo. Everything should be in order."
The officer frowned, thumbing through the documents. Daigo shifted behind her, his grin daring someone to question him. One of the killers cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing in the hall like a warning.
The tension was suffocating - until the officer's eyes flicked to the stamp at the bottom of the page. His posture softened. He stamped the entry approval.
"Welcome to South Carolina," he said flatly.
Kira gave a small, gracious nod. "Thank you."
The group passed through without a hitch, their weapons waiting for them beyond the security checkpoint in the marked crates.
Outside the airport, the rain had intensified, slicking the black asphalt and turning the streets into mirror-like rivers.
Their rented ehicles awaited - two black SUVs with tinted windows, engines idling like beasts in the dark.
Lionel paused at the curb, the rain dripping down his face, plastering his hair back. He breathed in the damp air, letting the weight of the moment settle.
His Glock rested heavy on his hip, the promise of violence coiled tight inside him.
"First stop," Lionel said, his voice low, sharp. "The orphanage."
Kira smirked. Daigo spun his bat once, grinning madly. The five killers stepped into formation like wolves circling their prey.
The hunt had begun.
Back in South Carolina, at the hospital - 7:19 PM
The glass doors of the hospital slid open, releasing Ian into the cool night air. The faint smell of disinfectant still clung to him, and the sterile light of the hospital spilled onto the pavement like a reminder of where he'd just been - beaten, stabbed, and stitched back together just to save a woman's life.
He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling slowly, as though he was afraid of taking too much of the night at once.
Beside him, Ricky leaned casually against a black SUV parked at the curb, his posture relaxed, his eyes watchful. Ian turned, managing a tired smile.
"Thanks again," Ian said quietly. His voice was low, threaded with exhaustion but heavy with sincerity.
Ricky grinned and shook his head. "How many times you gonna say that, man? You make me feel like I just saved you from a burning building or something."
Ian chuckled softly, though it faded quickly. "I mean it. If it weren't for you… I don't know where I'd be."
The grin on Ricky's face faltered slightly, softening into something gentler. He studied his old friend, noticing the weight in his eyes, the kind that went deeper than just hospital bills and wounds.
"Speaking of 'where you'd be,'" Ricky said, folding his arms, "you got a place to stay?"
Ian hesitated. His gaze shifted to the asphalt, to the empty stretch of road, to anywhere but Ricky's face. A small, almost embarrassed smile pulled at his lips. He shook his head slowly, almost sheepishly.
Ricky's eyebrows rose, then he let out a chuckle. "That's what I thought."
Before Ian could protest, Ricky clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, man. I got you. I've got a spare house just sittin' there, waiting for someone to live in it. Consider it yours."
Ian blinked, his eyes widening. "A… a house? Ricky, I can't… that's too much."
Ricky laughed, the sound rich and genuine, echoing lightly in the night air. "Too much? Bro, I've known you since we were kids running around that orphanage. You think I'm gonna let you crash in some motel or on the street? Nah. Friends help each other."
Ian's throat tightened. He wanted to argue, but the warmth in Ricky's voice shut him down. All he could manage was another soft, "Thank you."
"Enough of that," Ricky said, opening the car door with a grin. "Get in before I change my mind."
Fifteen minutes passed in the hum of the engine, headlights cutting through the quiet backroads of South Carolina.
Ricky drove with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping lightly to the beat of an old R&B song playing on the radio.
Ian sat in the passenger seat, his eyes flicking between the dark treeline outside and the dashboard.
The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable - it was the silence of two people who'd known each other long enough to not need words every second.
"You're quiet," Ricky said finally, breaking the stillness.
Ian gave a half-smile. "Just… taking it in. Being out. Breathing air that doesn't smell like bleach and hospital food."
Ricky chuckled. "Fair enough."
Ian turned his head, studying Ricky's profile - the strong jaw, the familiar smirk that hadn't changed since they were teenagers. "You really did well for yourself, huh?"
Ricky shrugged modestly, though a flicker of pride crossed his face. "Blood and sweat, man. That's how. Nothing comes free in this world."
Ian nodded. "Still… impressive."
The SUV slowed as Ricky turned into a driveway. Ian's eyes widened as the headlights swept over a tidy, two-story vacant house. The siding was clean, the windows dark, and the yard freshly trimmed.
Beside it stood Ricky's own home - a modern, sprawling property, its lights glowing warmly through wide windows.
Ian stepped out of the car and let his eyes roam. He whistled low. "Damn. That's yours?" He pointed at the bigger house.
"Yeah," Ricky said, coming around the car with a small smile. "Built it with these two hands. Years of grindin'."
Ian smirked. "Really impressive. Twice impressive, actually."
Ricky laughed, shaking his head. "You always know how to put things, man. But what about this one?" He gestured to the smaller house, the spare.
Ian studied it. It wasn't flashy, but it was solid, warm, and safe-looking. "Not small. Not too big. Just right." He let out a short laugh. "Honestly, anything with a roof over my head works."
Ricky burst into laughter, clapping him on the back. "Look at you crackin' jokes. That's new."
Ian smiled faintly. "People change over time."
"No doubt," Ricky said, nodding. "Me and Devonte, though - we were always the clowns at the orphanage. Remember that?"
A genuine laugh slipped from Ian's chest, the sound rusty but real. "Yeah… I remember. You guys kept the place alive."
"Speaking of Devonte," Ricky said as they headed toward the house, "he's good. Doing well for himself. I'll text him, let him know you're here. Maybe he'll come by."
Ian's expression softened. "I'd like that."
Inside, the house was clean, faintly smelling of fresh paint. Ricky gave Ian a quick tour before leading him to the living room. He rummaged through the fridge and came back with two bottles of beer, tossing one to Ian.
They settled onto the large sofa. The beer caps clinked off the table as they popped them open.
Ricky took a long sip, then leaned back. "Oh - Ellie texted me earlier. Asked if I was with you."
Ian paused mid-sip. "Wait. How the hell did she know?"
"Ohhh.." Ian put two and two together quickly.
Ricky smirked knowingly. "You're the only one I know outside the orphanage, man. Wasn't hard for her to put two and two together."
Ian groaned, shaking his head. "I just knew that, Ricky."
Ricky chuckled. "And speaking of Ellie - don't be surprised if she shows up. I invited her."
Ian's brows rose, then a genuine smile touched his lips. "I'm not. I already met her."
They clinked bottles, the familiar rhythm of old friends resurfacing as though no time had passed.
Then their bonding suddenly interrupted...
It was then - midway through their drinks, laughter still hanging faintly in the air - that the sound came.
A muffled moan. Then another. The rhythmic creak of a bedframe. The unmistakable sounds of intimacy drifted faintly from the larger house across the way - Ricky's home.
Ian froze mid-sip, the bottle suspended in his hand. Slowly, his eyes flicked to Ricky.
"…Is that- ?" Ian began.
Ricky's face tightened. He set his beer down, exhaling heavily through his nose. He didn't answer at first. Just stared at the floor as though the sound itself stabbed into him. Finally, he gave a single, pained nod.
Ian set his beer down, too. The sound of another moan filled the silence. He swallowed hard, unsure what to say, his chest tightening for his friend.
Minutes passed in heavy silence.
Finally, Ian leaned forward, his voice steady but soft. "Whatever you need. Advice. Support. Anything. I'm here."
Ricky lifted his gaze. His eyes glistened faintly, though his smile was melancholy. He raised his bottle again, clinking it against Ian's with quiet resolve.
"To old friends," Ricky murmured.
Ian nodded. "To old friends."